


One Step Ahead

by poetanddidntknowit34



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: I'll Add tags as we go along, Language, M/M, Mention of abuse, Sexual Themes, Slow Burn, Violence, Zombie AU, a lot of people die in this one, be aware of some major character deaths, so like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-01-31 14:34:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 33,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18593254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetanddidntknowit34/pseuds/poetanddidntknowit34
Summary: A zombie apocalypse wipes out humanity, leaving barely-acquainted co-workers Owen Carvour and Curt Mega alone. As the last men on Earth fight for survival, they become closer and begin to develop feelings for each other. But the threats of zombies and of death are always right around the corner. Good thing spies never die.





	1. Chapter One

“Mega, you fucking shithead, what would I do without you?” Cynthia Houston banged the door to Curt’s office open with no warning or pretense—per usual. “You really saved our asses in Thailand this weekend.”

Curt smiled and waved his hand at her. “It was no big deal, Cynthia, really. Anyone could have brought down a multi-million dollar trafficking operation with just dental floss and a handful of marbles.”

“Marbles? I heard it was gumballs.” Owen Carvour stuck his head in the doorway. “Either way, good show, Mega.” His smile was lopsided and he stuck out a hand for Curt to shake.

“Mega, have you met Special Agent Owen Carvour?” Cynthia asked.

Curt shook Owen’s hand; his grip was firmer than expected. “We’ve met a few times, yes. But only briefly.” He let go of Owen’s hand. “Your reputation precedes you, Carvour. I heard last week that you single-handedly escaped nine drug-lords in Laos.”

Owen shrugged. “Eleven drug-lords. But hey, who’s counting?”

“Cavour! Are you coming or what?” Agent Bryan Larsen called from down the hall. “I need to file this report so I can go home!”

“Coming!” Owen shouted over his shoulder. “Let me buy you a beer sometime, Mega. I’ll dazzle you with stories of how MI6 does things.”

Curt laughed. “Maybe someday, Carvour.”

“Carvour!” Bryan snapped from down the hallway. “I got date night tonight! If you make me late, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Owen rolled his eyes. “Bye Cynthia. Mega.” He nodded at each in turn before turning to jog down the hall towards Bryan. “Cool your jets, Larsen. You’ll make it home in time to improperly shag your wife.”

“Shut the fuck up, Carvour.” Bryan said as they turned the corner.

“Finish up your report by this evening.” Cynthia said. “I need to submit it to the Vice President tomorrow morning so we can officially close the case. Don’t fuck it up.”

“Love you, too, Cynthia.” Curt said, going to sit back down behind his desk to finish editing his case report.

\-----

Curt finally finished his write-up around 8PM and went to drop it on Cynthia’s desk when he bumped into Owen in the hallway.

“Oh, hello, Mega.” Own said. “Finish your report?”

“Yeah. It’s the only part of the job that I hate—all the paperwork.” He opened the door to Cynthia’s office and dropped the thick file on her desk. “What about you? Did you finish?”

Owen sighed. “No. Larsen had to leave, so we couldn’t finish, which means I’ll have to delay my flight back to London until Thursday and come back here tomorrow to finish.”

“Is your wife upset?”

Owen shook his head. “Not married. Though, I’m sure my cat is a little miffed.” He huffed a small laugh, and they began to walk towards the exit of the building. “Hey, I’m starving.” Owen said. “Where’s a good place for food around here?”

“There’s a bar just down the street. They’ve got good burgers.” Curt said.

“Care to join me? I’ll buy you that beer.”

Curt hesitated a moment, then shrugged. Nothing wrong with getting to know a fellow spy. “Sure. I could use a drink.”

\----

The bar was dingy and poorly lit, and Curt and Owen were the only patrons apart from a very intoxicated man who was hanging on to his bar-stool by an inch of trouser fabric.

“Sit wherever.” The bartender huffed when they walked in. “Whatcha want?”

“Guinness.” Curt said, shrugging his coat off and draping it over a chair at a table near the window. “And a house burger with no ketchup.”

Owen hesitated a moment, but didn’t see a menu anywhere. “I’ll have the same.”

Owen took the chair across from Curt, and an awkward silence descended. The only sound in the bar was the TV, which was tuned to a news station. _“Witness accounts from New York, Los Angeles, Dallas, and Chicago report a strange new disease that’s come about. Reports say that victims of the disease appear to die, then promptly reawake and attack anyone around them—trying to bite them. Those bitten quickly succumb to the same fate.”_

_Owen gestured to the TV. “What do you make of that, Mega?”_

_Curt turned around to look at the news report. On screen, a crazed man with blood around his mouth chased a woman on the street, before grabbing her and biting her neck. _“Video accounts show a horrifying lack of empathy from the victims of the disease. The CDC has yet to release an official cause, but their public statement to CNN advised citizens in cities where the disease has been spotted to stay inside as much as possible, and not to engage with those who have been infected.”__

__Curt rolled his eyes. “It’s mass hysteria.”_ _

__“You think so?” Owen asked as the bartender set their food and drinks down in front of them. He took a sip of his beer. “It’s been going on for a few weeks in Europe now, and I heard a report that the first cases have started popping up in South America and Asia. It seems to be moving faster.”_ _

__“It’s mass hysteria—trust me. It probably started as a new disease, but now people are making up symptoms in their heads and the idea is spreading faster than the disease. Just watch—in a few weeks, the CDC will put out a statement about the disease, it’s real symptoms, and how to treat it, and this will all be a weird memory.” Curt took a massive bite out of his burger and began to chew. When he looked back at Owen, he found the other spy’s dark brown eyes drilling in to him. “What?” Curt said around his burger, then looked down at his hands and shirt to see if he’d spilled something on himself._ _

__“Nothing.” Owen dropped his stare and picked up his own burger. “I just think we should all be a little more cautious about diseases we know nothing about.” He took a bite of the burger and the two men fell into a comfortable silence as they ate their dinner._ _

__\----_ _

__“Can you find your way back to your hotel?” Curt asked as they exited the bar._ _

__Owen squinted at the nearest intersection’s signs and nodded. “Yeah, I’m just a few blocks that way.” He gestured to the right. “Thanks for the recommendation—that’s probably the best burger I’ve ever had.”_ _

__Curt held out his hand. “Thanks for the beer.”_ _

__Owen gripped Curt’s hand in a firm shake. “See you tomorrow, Mega.”_ _

__“Likewise, Carvour.”_ _


	2. Chapter 2

The alarm went off at 7AM the next morning and Curt groaned as he slammed the off button. He hadn’t slept well, and he wasn’t looking forward to another day of paperwork. Cynthia had a rule about “no new cases within a week of finishing the last”, which meant that he was bound to his desk until Monday at the earliest. Longer if all the cool cases got doled out to other agents in the meantime.

Curt swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, stretching and listening to the bones in his spine and neck crack and re-settle. His stomach was bothering him, but that’s what he gets for eating a burger at 9 o’clock last night. “I’m getting fucking old.” Curt grumbled as he rubbed his stomach and shook out his stiff limbs.

As he shuffled out of his bedroom, he noticed—to his dismay or delight, he hadn’t decided yet—that his legs weren’t the only thing that was stiff. He palmed himself through his underwear as he wandered into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

Stepping under the stream, he closed his eyes and let the water flow over him. Even though he preferred working in the field, mornings at home had a special calmness to them that he always treasured. As he worked shampoo into his hair, his mind wandered to the night before—the way that Owen had been staring at him, his intense gaze both terrifying and wonderful. Curt’s cock twitched against his stomach.

“Don’t even fucking start with me.” Curt said. “Owen’s a colleague. That’s it.” And he forced his mind to conjure thoughts of his most recent “drinking buddy” before allowing himself to cum.

\-----

Once Curt was dressed, he went into the kitchen, pulled a carton of orange juice from the fridge, and clicked on the television.

 _“—And once you’ve let your souffle cool, you can decorate it!”_ The chipper voice of a morning talk show host screeched out of the TV.

“Garbage.” Curt said, taking a swing from the carton of OJ and changed the channel to a news station.

 _“A fire broke out in downtown New York City this morning as people infected with a mysterious disease broke out of the hospital and began attacking people on the streets.”_ Curt watched a clip of diseased people grabbing and biting civilians, and he went to the living room window and threw open the blinds. Everything on the street below him was calm, but he could see black smoke rising from the direction of downtown. _“Similar fires and mass attacks have broken out all over the United States, as well as in Europe, parts of Asia, and Central and South America. The CDC and the UN advise people to stay in their homes and not to engage with the infected.”_

Curt turned the TV off. “This is how we get mass panic. Quarantining people in their homes.” He rolled his eyes and threw the remote on the couch before walking out the door to head to work.

\-----

Curt’s walk to work was very quiet for a Wednesday in New York. He saw only one or two other people out, and the traffic was non-existent; maybe five cars on the street at any given moment. The typical sounds of New York were gone, and all Curt could hear was the wail of emergency sirens from downtown.

He was distracted by what he thought sounding like screaming over the sirens, when he turned the corner next to the agency building and bumped directly into Owen, jostling the other spy’s coffee cup and spilling it on his shirt. “Oh, shit, Carvour. I’m sorry.” Curt looked around, but there was nothing nearby that he could grab to help clean up the mess.

Owen had a napkin in his hand from donut he’d just finished eating, and he began to dab at the spill. “If I didn’t know any better, Mega, I’d say you were trying to make me look bad in front of the Americans.” He flashed one of his lopsided grins.

“It’s not hot is it?”

“No, hotel lobby coffee never is.” Owen sighed and looked at his coffee cup, laying forlorn on the sidewalk. “But I feel it’s safe to say that you owe me a new cup.”

“Fair enough.” Curt said, opening the door to the agency. “I think I have a Tide stick in my desk drawer, too.”

Owen went through the doors and Curt followed close behind. They hung a right down a corridor and went into the small cafeteria. A spread of donuts, bagels, fruit, and yogurts lined one wall, and Susan was standing behind the self-serve barista station next to it, fiddling with the expresso machine. “After you.” Curt gestured and Owen strode across the room towards the coffee bar.

“Oh!” Susan exclaimed when he saw them. “Hi Agent Carvour! I didn’t know you would be back again today. Are you here to work a case?”

Owen laughed. “No, Susan, I’m here to finish up my report on the case with Agent Larsen. My plane leaves tomorrow.”

“Oh, well that’s too bad. You know, Cynthia would hire you in a heartbeat if you asked. You’re the best agent we have.”

“Hi to you, too, Susan.” Curt said with a frown.

“Oh, hey Agent Mega.” Susan shot only a momentary glance at the agency’s ACTUAL best agent. “Anyway, as I was saying—”

He was interrupted by screaming and gunshots in the hallway.

“What the fuck?” Curt said, drawing his weapon at the same time as Owen. Susan left the barista station and went to look out the door. “Susan, wait—”

Before Curt could stop him, Susan stepped out into the hallway, and someone grabbed him by the shoulders before leaning in to take a large chunk of flesh out of his neck.

“Fuck!” Owen yelled, discharging a round into the head of the intruder.

Curt rushed over to where Susan lay in the hallway and pushed the body off him. The body itself looked as if it had been dead for several days and no one had bothered to inform it—bloat had set in, and it had a horrible smell to it. Curt elected to ignore the impossible phenomenon and attend to Susan. “Susan, can you hear me?”

Susan didn’t respond—blood was pouring out of his neck and puddling on the floor at a sickeningly rapid pace. “He’s gone, Mega.” Owen said, laying a hand on Curt’s shoulder. We need to find—”

More screams and more gunshots came from the main hallway. “This way.” Curt said, taking off down the corridor and back towards where they entered the building. When they reached the front lobby, it was a war zone. People that Curt recognized from the news as “infected” were spilling in through the front doors and crawling over each other to get to the agency staff inside. Agents were trying their best to hold off the swarm, but their guns only had so many bullets and Curt and Owen watched as the swarm drove the staff further back into the building. The lobby was a sea of dead people.

“We have to do something.” Curt said, raising his gun and firing a few rounds into the heads of Infected near the door. But even as those fell, more took their place in the doorway.

“Mega, there’s too many.” Owen said, firing his own weapon into the swarm of Infected. “We have to fall back.”

“These are my friends!” Curt said, taking a few more shots. He was down to twenty bullets in his magazine now.

“They’re special agents, Mega, they can handle themselves. We have to get out.” Owen began to tug on Curt’s arm.

“Get fucked, Carvour, these aren’t your people. It’s easy for you to abandon them.” Curt took another step closer to the swarm and killed five more. Fifteen bullets left.

Just then, Curt saw Cynthia on the other side of the lobby. “What in the fuckity FUCK is happening?” She yelled, firing two pistols off at a rapid pace, landing a shot between the eyes into multiple Infected. But the swarm was moving too fast, and soon, one had a hand wrapped around Cynthia’s ankle, pulling her to the floor. In an instant, a wave of Infected had engulfed her.

“Cynthia!” Curt yelled, trying to take another step forward into the lobby. But Owen had a firm grip on his shoulder. Several of the Infected heard Curt yell, and they began to turn and move in his direction.

“We need to move. Now.” Owen said, and this time when he tugged Curt back, Curt didn’t resist. The two agents fell back into the hallway and began to jog back towards the cafeteria. “Is there another exit in this wing?” Owen asked.

“Yeah, there should be one at the end of this hall. Follow me.” Curt took the lead down the hall and away from the horde that was starting to turn in their direction. Within moments, he could see the door at the end of the hall, and he had to side-step Susan’s body as he ran past the cafeteria. He didn’t get much further down the hall, though, before the glass on the exit door shattered and more bodies pushed themselves through the entrance, clawing over each other to get to him. “Carvour!” Curt yelled, glancing back at Owen.

“I see them.” He said. “Here! Into the cafeteria.” He stepped into the doorway and motioned Curt to follow. “I’ve got your back!”

Curt ran towards the door as Owen fired a few rounds above his head and into the Infected behind him. Curt was about to step inside the cafeteria, when something grabbed his ankle and yanked, and he hit the ground hard. Susan was Infected; he had a hold on Curt’s ankle and was trying to drag his foot into his mouth. Curt tried to kick himself free, but it was no use.

“Oh Susan.” Curt said. “I’m so sorry.” He leveled his gun and fired.

Owen reached down and grabbed Curt by the shirt collar and yanked. The American spy slid backwards on the tile and tumbled into the cafeteria as Owen slammed the door shut behind him. “Quick, drag those tables over.” Owen said as he leaned his full weight onto the door to keep it from opening. He grabbed a chair nearby and jammed it under the handle to fix it closed, then assisted Curt with dragging every table over and piling it against the door. “There.” Owen said, breathing hard. “I don’t think they’ll be able to get in. We’ll be safe here for now.”

Curt strode quickly across the room and kicked a trashcan with all his might. “FUCK!” He yelled and sent a smaller recycling bin flying across the room with another kick. “FUCKING… FUCK!”

“Mega, you need to calm down.” Owen said, taking a step towards him.

Curt whirled on him and closed the distance between them to poke a finger into his chest. “Don’t you DARE tell me to calm down, you English asshole. I already told you: those aren’t your people out there. I abandoned them because you told me to. They’re going to die now, and I’m going to live. You have no idea what that feels like.”

Owen shoved Curt’s hand away from his chest, his eyes flashing. “Mega, don’t you dare preach to me about leaving agents behind. You KNOW how much time I spend here at this agency. Cynthia was my FRIEND. We’ve all lost people today, and you don’t get to play sanctimonious bastard about it.”

He turned and stalked off across the room to stand near the door. “All we can do now is wait until it’s safe to come out, then find other survivors and go from there.”

Neither spoke for a while; the only sound in the room was of the Infected clawing at the door. Finally, Curt said, “Fine. I guess we wait.”

“Yeah.” Owen said. “We wait.”


	3. Chapter 3

It had been three days since Curt and Owen had barricaded themselves in the agency’s cafeteria. The scratching at the door had stopped after an hour, and Owen had hypothesized that the Infected had heard a noise somewhere else in the agency and had forgotten about them. Still, they waited three days, hoping that the extra time would cause the horde to really spread out and they wouldn’t open the door to a cluster of them. On the second day, the power went out. On the third, Curt’s cell phone died—not that it had been any use to them in the first place, with the channels jammed from over-use and the power going out.

Those three days had been spent in an anxious silence; Curt and Owen only exchanging a few necessary words or grunts of agreement. Neither knew what to say or what to do. So, for three days, they waited.

Finally, on the morning of the fourth day, Curt spoke. “We’re running low on rations.” He said, handing Owen a bowl of dry cereal. “We’ve got the last of this box of cereal, a jar of peanut butter, and some bread. Everything else can’t be cooked without the power.”

“Great.” Owen said. “So we’re out of options. We have to leave.”

Curt popped the magazine out of his gun. “I have fourteen bullets left.”

Owen checked his cartridge. “Seventeen.” He clicked the magazine back into place. “Guns have to be an ‘emergency only’ measure, though.”

“What? Why? Guns are the best option for killing these things without having to get too close.”

“I agree,” Owen started, “However, they’re also the loudest. Did you notice how the…the infected people, they didn’t even notice us until you started yelling. You created a noise, and since all the other agents were also firing their guns, it was unique to the noises around them. They’re attracted to sound. So we have to be quiet.”

Curt thought about this for a moment. “OK, so no guns. How do we get out of this place alive, then?”

Owen pulled a hunting knife out of his pocket. “I’ve got this, and I’m sure there’s a knife for you in the kitchen.”

Curt walked to the back of the cafeteria and around the counter to the kitchen area. He began to pull open drawers until he found a butcher’s knife. “This is all I found.” He said, carrying the knife back out into the common area. “But it’s impractical. It’s too bulky and isn’t the best for stabbing.” He made a stabbing motion with it.

“You’re right. Plus, we need more options in case we drop our knives or it gets lodged in…” He threw his hands up in the air. “Oh fuck it, I’m just going to call them the Infected.” Curt shrugged. “We need more options than just these two knives.”

Curt snapped his fingers. “The evidence room! It has all the weapons we’ve ever confiscated from missions. Guns, knives, staffs, even a bazooka.”

“We don’t need a bazooka.” Owen said.

“Well, yes, I know that.” Curt said, only slightly disappointed. “But I’m just saying that there’s a lot of options for us.”

“Ok, so that’s stop number one. Where’s it at in the building?”

“It’s on this floor, but on the south side of the building. Here—” Curt grabbed a napkin off of the coffee bar and searched for a pen. He found one in a different drawer in the kitchen. “This is what the first floor looks like.” He made a rough sketch of the corridors and circled the cafeteria. “We’re here. We’ll have to go through the lobby and it’s at the end of this hallway.” He circled a spot on the opposite side of the building. “It’s maybe a five-minute walk.”

Owen nodded at the map. “Let’s make it four.”

“Three if we run.”

“Three it is, Mega.”

\-----

They’d made quick work of moving the tables away from the door and had put a rough plan in place—they’d make break for the evidence locker, trying to move as quietly as possible and not engaging with the Infected unless they engage first.

“Remember, Mega, no matter who you see out there, you have to keep moving. Keep your eyes on the prize.”

“I know, Carvour.” Curt said, adjusting the grip on his knife. “In and out.” He took a deep breath. “OK. Let’s do this.”

Owen gripped the door handle, then quietly swung open the door and peaked out into the hallway. “Clear.” He whispered. And they both began to sprint down the corridor.

The hallway leading to the lobby was empty, and the two men ran side-by-side until they reached the entrance to the lobby. There, Owen gestured for them to stop. Curt flattened himself against the wall and watched as Owen leaned around the corner to look out into the lobby.

“There’s about ten Infected.” He whispered. “Spread out in the space, but not actively moving. If we keep along this wall here, we should be able to slip past most of them.” Owen changed the grip on his knife. “On three, we run. We won’t have time to check the next hallway, so we’ll just have to be prepared for the worst.” Curt nodded. “One… two… three.”

The two spies pushed off of the wall and Curt followed Owen around the corner. Quietly, they began to race towards the south side of the lobby. They were nearing the southern end, when Curt’s foot connected with a metal water bottle someone had dropped during the swarm. The bottle made a clanging noise as it ricocheted off the floor of the lobby and skittered to rest in a corner.

The Infected in the lobby snapped to attention and locked their eyes on Curt and Owen. One began to snarl, and they began to walk towards them at a steady pace. Owen rolled his eyes. “So much for quiet.” He brought his knife up. “Let’s make quick work of this, shall we?” He stabbed the nearest one through the temple. The Infected made a choking sound, then fell to the floor.

“They see us, Carvour. Why don’t we just shoot them?” He stabbed an approaching Infected and reached for his gun as it dropped to the floor.

“Because, Mega,” Owen side-stepped an Infected that had lunged at him, planting his knife in its skull and watching it fall. “We don’t know how many are in this building. I’d like to avoid bringing down a whole swarm on us.” He kicked one that got too close and knocked it into two others. The three Infected stumbled backwards and through a glass coffee table—killing two and spearing one on a table leg, immobilizing it. Six down, four to go.

“I’m just saying,” Curt said, walking forward and driving his large knife into the skull of another Infected. He had to shake it to dislodge the weapon, and once it was free, he barely had time to recover before the next one was nearly on top of him. He stabbed this one, too. “It’s not like we’re bad shots. We could’ve had this done in a jiffy.” He watched as Owen took down the last two. The lobby was silent again.

“Mega, you’re going to be the death of me, I swear.” Owen rolled his eyes and turned to walk down the hallway towards the evidence room. As he looked back to speak again, an Infected stepped out of the dark hallway and grabbed Owen by the shoulders. “Shit!” Owen yelled, stumbling backwards. He lost his footing and fell backward, hitting the linoleum hard. His knife scattered out of his grasp and slid towards Curt. Owen put a hand on the Infected’s throat and held on tight as the Infected snapped its teeth only inches from Owen’s nose.

“Fuck.” Curt said, grabbing Owen’s knife off of the floor and driving it through the Infected’s temple. Immediately, the Infected stopped moving, and Owen pushed it off him and clambered to his feet.

“What was that about me being the death of you?” Curt smirked as he handed Owen his knife back.

“Thanks.” Owen said, using his pants to wipe the blood off his knife. “Let’s keep moving.” He turned and started walking down the hall again.

As they neared the evidence locker, it became apparent that they weren’t the only ones who had thought of gathering weapons from the locker. The door was ajar and there was blood and bodies on the floor. “Shit.” Curt whispered. “That’s Larsen.” He pointed to a man lying slumped against the wall near the door.

“And Callum.” Owen pointed to another.

They were silent for a while, taking in the shock of what they were seeing.

Finally, Owen said, “We should gather our supplies and get out of here. We need to find somewhere safe.”

The spies grabbed two backpacks off the wall and began to stuff them in silence. Curt grabbed three guns with silencers and stacked 10 boxes of ammo inside the backpack. He slung a compound bow onto his back and tucked an axe into his belt, then put two hunting knives in his pocket. Owen picked up a second hunting knife and loaded his backpack with ammo for the guns. Next, he picked up an aluminum bat and tested the weight of it in his hands. The bat was blue and had “Red” spray painted on the side…in purple. “What master criminal had a bat confiscated?”

Curt looked up from the rope he was inspecting. “Oh. Sergio Santos. Not really a ‘master criminal’. He’s not too bright and is mostly harmless, but he makes it a point to always have a weird weapon on him whenever we run into him. He says it’s because he wants our logs to look crazy.” Curt shrugged. “He’s a weird guy.”

Owen nodded and decided to take the bat with him. He also slid a crowbar into his belt and tossed an extra set of arrows for Curt’s bow into the backpack. A box of grenades was sitting on the floor and Owen bent down to inspect them. “Who just tosses a bunch of grenades into a box? This is one of the most dangerous things I’ve ever seen. And I’m a fucking spy for a living!”

Curt looked over at the box. “Oh yeah. The Boom Box. We’ve just always had it.”

Owen looked at Curt in horror. “You Americans… you’re something else, I tell you.” He reached into the box, picked out one of the grenades, and slipped it into his pocket.

“Carvour, why do you need a grenade?” Curt asked, setting his pack down.

“Huh?” Owen looked up from counting the boxes of ammo in his backpack.

“I watched you put a grenade in your pocket just now. What could you possibly need a grenade for?”

“Mega, in our line of work, you must know how important it is to stay one step ahead at all times. One step ahead of your enemies, your fellow spies, and especially ahead of undead flesh-eaters.” Owen grinned. “I figured it might come in handy. Maybe it’ll save our asses. And if I’m backed into a corner, then at least I can go out on my terms. And take a bunch of them with me.”

Curt was silent for a moment. “It won’t come to that.”

Owen shrugged. “You have to be prepared for every possibility.” He zipped up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. “Where to next? We can’t stay here, but we also can’t leave without an objective.”

“We should go to my mom’s. She’s in a safe house on the edge of the city—it’s close to the woods and is supposed to be stocked to withstand siege if needed.” Curt shouldered his pack, too. “We can hide out there until we formulate a plan.”

Owen gestured to the door. “Mom Mega’s it is.”


	4. Chapter 4

“How far away is the safe house?” Owen asked. They were standing in the lobby again, debating on their best course of action to get out of the city.

“It’s on the edge of the city. Maybe forty-five minutes by car. A lot further if we walk…” Curt trailed off.

“It’s also a lot more dangerous if we walk.” Owen said. “We need to find a car. We don’t know how many Infected are out on the streets, but we need to move fast and draw the least amount of attention to ourselves as possible.”

“There’s a cool Benz in the garage.” Curt suggested. “It’s flashy, but it rides silent. We use it for tracking people who are on foot. It’s nearly imperceptible.”

Owen smiled. “I’ve always wanted to drive a Benz.”

“Keep wanting, Carvour.” Curt said. “I know where the safe house is, so I’ll be driving.” He pulled the axe out of his belt and caught the handle mid-air. “You’ll just have to be along for the ride.”

Owen rolled his eyes. “Just lead the way.”

Curt turned towards a nearby hallway and began to walk down it. His axe was raised, and he was moving slowly, as the hallway was dimly lit and he wasn’t sure how many Infected were hiding in the shadows.

It was quiet, then Owen whispered, “Two o’clock.” He was so close to Curt, that the hair on the back of Curt’s neck stood up as Owen’s breath rolled past.

“I see them.” Curt spotted the two Infected against the wall to his right. They hadn’t noticed the spies yet, and they were swaying slightly as they stood lifeless in the hallway. “On three. One…two…three.”

The two men silently rushed the Infected. Curt’s axe connected with one as Owen’s bat took down the other. Blood sprayed the walls and Curt caught a spatter on his shirt. “Aww. I liked this shirt.” He mumbled.

“Keep moving.” Owen said, slightly out of breath from the exertion of swinging the bat.

The hallway ended in a door with a keypad. “The door’s closed, which means that no one went down while the horde was swarming the building.” Curt said. “So hopefully, that also means that the garage won’t have any Infected in it. But, it for sure means that the door’s locked. The keypad is the only way to open it, and the power’s out.”

“Step back.” Owen said, pulling the crowbar from his belt loops and hooking it into the door jamb. He grunted with effort, and the door strained for a moment before it popped open with a metal clanging sound. “After you.” He huffed.

Curt paused for a moment to dig through his bag. He pulled out one of the flashlights that he’d found in the evidence room and flicked it on, illuminating the staircase. Then, he began to slowly descend.

Once in the basement, they discovered that Curt’s hunch was right: The small garage was empty of Infected. Windows near the ceiling of the cement garage lit up the area, and there were fourteen cars parked around the perimeter. A glass garage door led out to the street on one end, and a reception kiosk stood in the center.

Curt strode over to the kiosk and began to rifle through a drawer. “Ah. Here it is.” He held up a remote key for a car, and when he pressed the lock button, a small beep sounded from a sleek black Benz near the stairwell.

“How are we supposed to get a car out of the garage if the power’s cut?” Curt asked. “We can’t open the door.”

Owen opened the passenger side door and tossed his backpack on the floor. “We’re going to have to ram the door, Mega. It’s glass—it won’t hold up against a car.” Owen got in and shut his door. He made a gesture that Curt interpreted as ‘come on!’.

Curt shrugged. “Sounds like a good plan to me.” He opened the driver’s side door and handed Owen his backpack. “Put your seatbelt on.” He said as he turned the ignition and revved the engine. Owen did as he was told and grabbed onto the door handle to brace himself. “Ready?” Curt asked.

“Punch it.”

The Benz shot forward and barreled towards the garage door. When it connected with the door, there was the sound of cracking glass and crunching metal, and suddenly, the Benz was out on the street, swerving widely to turn onto the main road and avoid crashing into the building across the street from the agency. It rolled to a stop.

“Woo!” Curt yelled. “We’re out!”

“Save your celebrations for later, Mega. We’re not out of the woods yet.” Owen pointed to a small group of Infected that had heard the crash and were turning towards them. “You keep us moving; I’ll keep an eye out for Infected.” He dug a gun out of his backpack and began screwing a silencer onto it. Then he silenced and loaded a second gun and set it in the cupholder. “In case you need it.”

“Thanks.” Curt said, swinging the car around in the right direction. “We’ll be out of the city in no time.” He punched the gas, and the Benz sped along the city streets.

Owen scanned the intersections and sidewalks as they sped past. The streets were suspiciously empty, save for a few Infected that hadn’t seemed to notice their presence. After ten minutes of silence, he began to relax a little. He watched Curt out of the corner of his eye; the hard set of the American’s jaw, the slight stubble appearing on his face, the way his shirt clung to his chest…

Owen shook his head and forced his eyes forward. Now was not the time for that, nor would it ever be. Curt was just a colleague. That’s it.

They rode in silence for a few more minutes, slowly approaching the edge of the city. When they reached the bridge that would take them out into the woods, Curt slammed on the brakes. “Shit.” He said.

The bridge was covered in Infected—a whole swarm about a half mile in length covered the bridge with a thick sea of bodies, blocking their way out of the city.

“Fuck.” Curt said. “Carvour, what do we do now?”

Owen thought for a moment, then took off his seatbelt said, “Pull up close to the edge of the swarm and park. I’ve got an idea.”

“Are you insane?”

“Trust me, Mega. This is going to work.”

Curt hesitated, then he slowly rolled to a stop about five feet from the edge of the swarm. Once the car was in park, Owen pressed the button for the sunroof and pulled himself up to stand on the center console. “What are you doing?” Curt hissed.

“Saving us.” Owen whispered back. He straightened out to stand up through the sunroof and aimed his silenced gun.

A few of the infected had noticed the car idling and had begun to turn in their direction. “Carvour, they see us.” Curt whispered, grabbing his gun and tugging on the leg of Owen’s pants to get his attention. “Whatever you’re about to do, do it now.”

Owen made a few minor adjustments to his aim, then fired the gun. The silencer did its job, and the bullet whizzed quietly through the air and connected with a light post at the end of the bridge behind them. A loud clanging noise reverberated around the empty streets. Owen landed back in his seat in the car and closed the sunroof again.

The horde, excited by the noise, all turned in the direction of the sound. They began to move slowly towards the other end of the bridge. Curt and Owen froze in their seat, neither breathing as the Infected began to amble past the car. The growling, moaning sounds that the Infected made were amplified as hundreds shambled past, and Curt felt like his heart was going to burst.

“Carvour.” Curt whispered.

“Not now.” Owen whispered back.

As the horde thinned out towards the end, Curt began to relax, and he went to put the gun back in the cupholder. The movement caught the eye of one of the Infected, though, and it slammed itself up against the window of the car. Curt jumped in surprise and reached out to grab Owen. Curt’s hand gripped the other man’s arm, and he yelped in surprise.

“Just drive, Mega!” Owen said, prying Curt’s hand off of his arm.

Curt pressed on the gas and the car shot forward again. Curt tried to swerve around the remaining Infected on the bridge, but several of them slammed onto the hood as Curt hit them head-on.

Finally, the car passed through the horde and over the bridge, and the spies were back on solid ground, racing into the woods outside of NYC.

\-----

Curt and Owen sped along in silence for what felt like ages. Finally, Curt said. “That was really smart. Shooting the light pole like that.”

Owen shrugged. “I had to draw them away, and that seemed like the best option.” He was quiet for a moment. “Good driving.” He winced slightly at how awkward it sounded; his arm was still burning with excitement from where Curt grabbed him.

“Uh, thanks.”

They were quiet again as they wound through the trees, and finally, Curt put a CD in. Rock music fell softly through the speakers and settled around them. It was an album of Queen’s greatest hits, and out of the corner of his eye, Curt watched as Owen nodded along to Somebody to Love.

“I like this song.” Curt said, in an effort to make conversation.

 “Me too.” Owen said. “I liked Freddie Mercury a lot. He really loved his cats.” There was a beat of silence, then Owen exclaimed, “Fuck! I forgot about my cat! Who’s going to feed him?”

Curt looked surprised. “Um, was he staying with anyone while you were here?”

“My sister.”

“Then, I’m sure your sister will take care of him.” Curt smiled a little. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Yeah… I guess.” Owen relaxed again, but still had a look of sadness. “How much further?”

“We’re pulling in now.”

Sure enough, a small home appeared out of the trees. It was modern, with two floors, a garage, and bullet-proof windows. Standard-issue safe house, and the best that the American Secret Service had to offer.

Curt pulled the Benz into the driveway and killed the engine. “Let’s scope the perimeter, then head inside and regroup.” The two men stepped out of the car and raised their guns. They began on the driveway and moved around the house in opposite directions. Both moved slowly, sweeping the area as thoroughly as possible to make sure there were no threats on the property.

When they met once more in the backyard, they deemed it clear and began to walk back towards the front door. When they reached the front yard, Curt went up to the front door and pressed the doorbell. Silence answered.

“Looks like the power’s out here, too.” Curt knocked on the door. “Ma? Mom!” He knocked louder. “It’s Curtis. Open the door!”

The woods were silent.

“Maybe she’s in the bunker downstairs.” Curt said. He gestured to Owen. “We’ll need the crowbar to get in.”

Owen eyed Curt. He doubted Mrs. Mega was in the bunker, and he was worried about what they would find inside. “Mega, what if—”

“Just use the crowbar, Carvour. We don’t have time for this.”

Owen hesitated, then took the crowbar out of his belt loops and braced it against the lock on the door. After a few seconds of strained effort, the wood frame cracked and they door swung open. Owen stood back away from the door.

Curt led the way into the house. “Ma?” He called out. There was only silence. “Let’s split up.” Curt raised his gun. “I’ll check the basement and first floor, you get the second.”

Owen nodded, raised his gun, and began to walk upstairs. Meanwhile, Curt opened the door to the basement, flicked his flashlight on, and started to descend. The basement was cold and damp, but quiet. “Mom?” He called again, quietly. At the bottom of the stairs, he swept his flashlight around the room. Boxes of rations and water bottles were stacked in the corner—enough to hide out here for months. In another corner, the door to the bunker was wide open and empty. “Dammit, Ma.”

Curt climbed back up to the main level, intending to begin searching it. Before he could, though, he heard Owen call down the stairs. “Mega. You should come up here.”

Curt took the stairs two at a time, and found Owen standing in the doorway of the guest bathroom. His back was to Curt, but Curt could tell that something was wrong. As he got closer, Owen stepped out of the way.

Inside the tub, Mom Mega was Infected and staring at Curt with a glassy look. Her Infected brain could not figure out how to get up from the tub, so she merely reached for the two men as she growled and clawed the air.

“Here.” Owen handed him a scrap of paper. “This was on the counter.”

_“Curtis,”_ The note read. “ _I got bit by a crazy man at the grocery store, and with all of those reports of attacks and people being infected…I don’t think I’m going to make it. I love you so much, schmoo. You’re a good son.”_

“Fuck.” Curt said. Then he reared back and punched a hole in the dry wall near the bathroom door. “FUCK!” Tears were welling-up, and his vision blurred as they spilled over.

“Look away.” Owen said, raising his gun.

“No.” Curt grabbed Owen’s arm.

“Mega, we can’t leave her like this.” Owen said carefully. “It’s dangerous to us. And… it’s not kind to her.”

“I know.” Curt said. “But I have to do it. It has to be me.”

Owen hesitated for a moment, then said. “OK. What do you need from me?”

“I just need to do this alone.”

Owen reached out to pat Curt on the shoulder, then changed his mind. “I’ll be in the living room if you need me.” He slowly descending the stairs.

Curt shut the bathroom door, locking himself inside with his mom. He slumped on the floor against the door, put his head in his hands, and began to sob softly. He cried for Cynthia and his fellow spies at the agency; he cried for being still alive while his loved ones were dead; he cried for his inability to save anyone. “Mom, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t get here in time.” He wept for several minutes, then he stood up slowly and wiped the tears and snot from his face. Through the window above the toilet, Curt watched the wind move through the tress behind the house. Then, leveled his gun at his mother’s head.

“God, please forgive me.”

He pulled the trigger.

\-----

“Here, drink this.” Owen said handing Curt a tumbler of whiskey and sitting down next to him. “You’ll feel better.”

This was the first that the two had spoken since Owen left Curt to take care of his mom. Once the deed had been done, Curt has spent the afternoon digging a grave in the backyard and burying Mrs Mega. Owen had worked on carrying their food and water upstairs, as well as sorting through Curt’s clean clothes in the house and claiming everything he thought would fit his taller, thinner frame. He also found a small generator in the basement and hooked it up so that the two men could shower for the first time in several days.

Now, it was night and Curt was sitting in front of the fireplace in the living room while picking at a can of cold Spaghetti O’s. The fire danced off of the two men as they sat side-by-side in front of it—their shadows dancing and overlapping behind them.

“Thanks.” Curt said, taking the glass and draining it in one swallow. He held the glass out for a refill, and Owen poured him another drink.

They were silent for a moment, watching the fire and sipping their drinks. Finally, Owen said, “I’m sorry, Curt.”

Curt nodded. Then, he turned to Owen, a puzzled look on his face. “You never call me Curt.”

Owen shrugged. “I think we’re well past the formalities of last names. Wouldn’t you say?”

Curt smiled a bit. “I guess so… Owen.” They sipped in silence again.

“Tell me about her.” Owen said, shifting his position on the rug so he could see Curt better.

Curt shrugged. “She was my mom, and she was a good mom. Not much else to tell.”

“I don’t believe you.” Owen said. “What was she like? What was her favorite color? What’d she think of you being a spy?”

Curt drained the rest of his glass and held it out for another pour. While Owen topped him off, Curt began to talk. “She was great. My dad left when I was a baby, so she raised me on her own. Mom used to say ‘he was a deadbeat and a criminal, so good riddance’.” He sighed. “She was overbearing at times—me being a spy made her worry a lot about my safety. That, and she was always hounding me to find a girlfriend and get married and have kids. I never had the heart to tell her that wasn’t going to happen.”

Owen watched Curt’s eye flick nervously to him and back to the fire. “Just not into the whole marriage scene?”

“Uh, yeah. Plus, it’s hard to meet people that aren’t also spies working for a non-ally agency. And when you do meet a nice, non-spy…partner…it’s hard to keep them because they don’t understand what the lifestyle is like.” Curt shrugged. “But, that didn’t stop my mom from wanting to talk about it.”

“She sounds great.”

“Yeah.” Curt said, smiling to himself. “She was.” A comfortable silence settled over them again for a few moments. “What about you? What’s your family like?”

“Small. Just like yours.” Owen said. “My mom died last year, and my dad died when I was ten.”

“I’m sorry.” Curt said.

“Me too.” He shook his head. “About my mom, that is. My dad was an alcoholic and an abusive asshole that used to kick the shit out of my mom and us kids. He drove home drunk one night and crashed into a light pole. And just like that,” Owen snapped his fingers, “We were free.” He swirled the ice in his tumbler. “My mom died of cancer last year. It’s just my sister and I left.”

“What’s your sister like?”

Owen’s face lit up into a smile. “Emily’s amazing. She’s a lawyer who fights domestic abuse cases for a non-profit in London. She has a nice husband, Mark, and they’re going to have a baby in June.” His smile wavered and fell. “If she survives this, that is.”

“Owen,” Curt put a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “You can’t think about that. Remember the motto? The one every fucking agent at the American Secret Service recites on almost every mission?”

“Considered alive until proven otherwise.”

“Exactly. I bet Emily and Mark are alive and holed up somewhere just like this with your cat.” Curt smiled.

Owen very much doubted that was the case, but he appreciated what Curt was doing. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Curt’s hand was still on Owen’s shoulder, and suddenly as they locked eyes, they both became acutely aware of this. Curt lingered for a few seconds, and he swore Owen leaned in closer to him. But, before he could determine whether or not that was real or just his imagination, he dropped his hand. “There’s three bedrooms upstairs. I’d like it if neither of us slept in the master—that was Mom’s room. You can take the guest room, and I’ll take my room.”

Curt stood up and set his glass on the coffee table. “Goodnight…Owen.”

“Goodnight, Curt."


	5. Chapter 5

When Curt woke the next morning, he was in his bed in the safe house, and it took him a few minutes to figure out why. When the events of the past day came back to him, they knocked him back into his pillow and he choked on his sobs. Curt bit down on his fist and as he tried his hardest not to cry again. Owen was in the next room, and the last thing Curt wanted was for the other man to hear him losing his shit a second time.

“Pull yourself together, Mega.” Curt said, breathing heavily. “It’s time to face another day.” He swung his legs up out of bed and went searching for his pants on the floor of the bedroom.

When he’d made himself presentable, Curt wandered out into the hallway. The door to Owen’s room was open, and the bedsheets were a crumpled mess, but Owen wasn’t inside. Curt began to walk downstairs. “Owen?”

“In here!” The Brit called back. Curt rounded the corner and saw Owen sitting in front of the fireplace, waving a skillet over the fire. He was wearing a pair of Curt’s jeans and one of his t-shirts from his high school production of Starship—he played Pincer, and his name was in blue near the top of the cast list on the back. “I’m making pancakes.” Owen said. “You want some?”

“Is there syrup?”

“No.”

“Pass.” Curt said, digging through the ration bins in the corner and pulling out a box of granola bars. “Aw man, do these have raisins in them?” He tossed the box back in and kept digging.

“You know,” Owen said, flipping his pancake in one fluid motion and returning it to the fire. “The apocalypse isn’t really the time to be picky with your food.”

“I understand that.” Curt said. “But I’ll eat the raisin granola bars and the pancakes when there’s nothing else to eat. I’m going to enjoy having options while I can. Oh! Jackpot!” He held up a box of chocolate peanut butter granola bars, then dropped down to sit on the floor near Owen as he tore open the packaging. “I’m gonna eat the shit out of these.”

Owen rolled his eyes. “You’re something else, Curt.” He finished making his second pancake, then set down the pan on the brick hearth and began to eat.

The two ate in silence for a few minutes, before Owen finally said, “We should probably do some prep work around here today; secure the front door, build emergency packs, see if the CB radio in the basement works, etc.”

Curt shrugged. “The CB works. It’s just a question of if there’s anyone on the other end listening.” He paused. “Wait, what are the emergency packs for?”

“In case we have to abandon the house in a hurry. We’ll fill them with things like food, water, clothes, etc.”

Curt nodded. “I’m impressed. I never would have thought of that.”

“It’s best to be prepared for every eventuality. You have to be one step ahead at all times.” Owen said.

“So you keep telling me.” Curt said, smirking a little.

\----

The men filled the rest of their day with the chores that Owen came up with. Owen filled their backpacks with food, water, a change of clothes, a hammock, materials to start a fire, extra ammo, and flashlights, and set them on an end table in the living room to be easily accessible in an emergency. Meanwhile, Curt chopped extra firewood, reinforced the front door, and tested the CB radio every half hour or so. He never received an answer, but he agreed with Owen—they should at least try.

Curt was doing another test of the radio when Owen came into the living room holding a box. “I found a chess set.” He said, rattling the box. “Want to play?”

“Uh, sure.” Curt put the radio away and tossed another log on the fire as Owen sat down on the carpet in front of him. “It’s been a few years, so I’m a little rusty.”

“That’s fine.” Owen said, setting the pieces delicately on the board. “I’m a little out of practice myself.” When all of the pieces were set up, Owen said, “White or black?”

“Dealer’s choice.” Curt said.

“I’ll let you be white.” Owen spun the board on the carpet so that the white pieces were in front of him. “Which means you go first.”

Curt reached out and moved one of his pawns forward on the board. Owen nodded and made a similar move. The two played in silence for a minute, the heavy chess pieces clacking softly as they moved around the wooden board. Finally, Owen said, “Who taught you to play?”

“My…” Curt hesitated. He didn’t want to tell Owen that his college boyfriend taught him to play, so he lied. “My roommate in college. I haven’t played since I played against him.” That part was true.

Owen hummed to show he was listening, then moved a knight and plucked one of Curt’s pawns off the board. His slender fingers moved lightly across the pieces, and Curt found himself staring. He shook his head. “Who taught you?” Curt asked.

“My father.” Owen watched as Curt took one of his rooks. “Though he sucked as a dad, he was a damn fine chess player. We would play on Sunday evenings together; it was one of the rare times he was sober and nice.” Owen moved his knight forward. “Checkmate.”

“Dammit.” Curt said. “Wanna go again?”

“I’m white this time.” Owen turned the board around and began to reset the pieces. The firelight cast shadows across the board and Curt watched intently as Owen made quick work of the reset.

“Who did you play with after your dad died?” Curt asked as Owen made his first move.

“My sister and my best friend.” Owen said, smirking as Curt moved a pawn forward. “We played on the chess team at school and I even made it to nationals.”

Owen slid a bishop forward and took one of Curt’s pawns. He delicately picked the pawn up by its top and set it carefully next to the board. “What was your roommate’s name?”

Curt stared at the board, trying to think of his next move. “Michael. He was great. We, uh, roomed together all four years of college.” He reached forward and placed a finger on top of a pawn. Owen watched Curt tap the top of his pawn as he thought. The muscles in his forearms twitched almost imperceptibly as he tapped. Owen licked his lips and cast his eyes back down to the chess board as Curt changed his mind and slid his bishop out onto the playing field to take one of Owen’s pawns. He plucked the pawn from the board and moved it to the side, Owen watching his every move.

“You’re good at this for someone who has been out of practice for a while.” Owen said. “But not great.” He moved a rook to check Curt’s king. “Checkmate.”

“Son of a—” Curt whispered, locking eyes with Owen. His breathing had quickened at some point during that last game, and he noticed that Owen’s had, too. “Again.”

Curt reached out and began to help Owen reset the chess board, this time with the white pieces in front of him. As he reached for his King, his hand landed on top of Owen’s and the two spies’ heads snapped up. They stared at each other briefly before adverting their gaze, and Curt snatched up his King to place it on the board in front of him. “I go first.” He breathed and moved a knight.

The two men played in silence, the pieces clicking as Curt and Owen moved and removed them around the board. Curt took one of Owen’s pieces, and Owen turned around and took one of Curt’s. Owen blocked a move of Curt’s, and Curt countered by disrupting Owen’s strategy. They danced around the board, the speed and urgency of their playing increasing with each turn until…

“Checkmate!” Curt declared, slamming his rook down in front of Owen’s King and collapsing back against the sofa behind him, trying to catch his breath.

“Checkmate.” Owen whispered, breathing hard and wiping a hand down his face. “Well—uh, well done Curt. That was…” He fumbled for his words. “You were a good match. A worthy opponent.” Owen was staring down Curt with such intensity that Curt thought the taller man might drill holes straight through him.

Curt only sat under the scrutiny of the gaze for a moment before he snapped to his feet. “It’s late.” He stuttered. “I should go to bed.” Without waiting for a response, Curt practically ran up the stairs and slammed the bedroom door behind him. Once he was alone, Curt dropped his jeans in a crumpled heap on the floor and wrapped his hands around his cock, whispering Owen’s name and picturing his fingers moving across the chess board with purpose. He bit down on a handful of his shirt to silence his release.

Downstairs, as soon as he heard Curt’s door snap shut, Owen’s hands flew to his crotch. He was rock hard, and the instant his hand made contact with his cock though the fabric, he came in his pants with a strangled cry.

“Dammit, Carvour.” He whispered, scowling at the wet spot on his jeans. “What are you? Fifteen?”

He sighed and threw the chess pieces back into the box before climbing the stairs to go to bed. He would just have to pretend like it never happened in the morning. At least that was something he was used to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to my sister who, when I asked what game they should play for an 'intense and intimate' scene, said "Pull a power move and make it Twister".


	6. Chapter 6

When Curt woke up the next morning, he was flushed with embarrassment. He had masturbated to the thought of Owen, and though the other man didn’t see it happen, there was no way he wouldn’t know something was up. He was a spy after all, and spies are extra observant. Curt closed his eyes and ran a hand across his face. “Mega, you’re better than this. You’re a grown man; you need to get a grip. Owen is a… friend. And you can’t treat him as anything but a friend if you want to live through this apocalypse.” He was muttering to himself as he slipped into a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

He hesitated at the door to his bedroom. Did he really want to go back out and face Owen? He also didn’t have a choice. It’s hard to avoid the only other person on Earth; especially when you live with him.

So, Curt took a deep breath and pulled open the door to his bedroom. The house was quiet, and when Curt looked towards Owen’s bedroom, he noticed that the door was shut tightly. _Owen must still be asleep,_ Curt thought, and he went downstairs to eat breakfast.

In Owen’s room, the humiliation from the night before was equally as palpable. Owen laid in bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to Curt descend the stairs. Luckily, Curt hadn’t seen him soil his jeans like a goddamn teenager, but as they were the only jeans in the house that fit him, he would have to wash them today. “That won’t look suspicious at all.” Owen muttered, rolling his eyes. “You need to get a handle on yourself, Carvour.” He said, sitting up. “Curt is a friend, and if you develop any attachments to him, it will make the end of the world a lot harder to survive.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and glared at his jeans. Then, he pulled on a clean pair of boxer shorts and stuck his head out into the hallway. The hallway was empty, so he snuck into the master bathroom and closed the door behind him. He picked up one of the water bottles that was laying next to the tub and poured the water out onto the crotch of the pants and used his hands to scrub at them. When they were clean enough, he snuck back into his room and laid the jeans out in a patch of sunlight on the bedroom floor to dry. Then, he dug in the dresser until he found a pair of old pajama pants. They were too short, and the hems rode the top of his ankles, but they’d have to do until his jeans dried.

Downstairs, Curt was messing with the fireplace and didn’t hear Owen come in. “Do you need help?” Owen asked, and Curt jumped.

“Oh, uh, no. I think I’ve got it.” He was moved the logs around and struck another match. He held this one under one of the logs, and a small fire caught before too long. Curt sat back and watched the fire gather in the hearth. He overturned a can of Spaghetti O’s into a pot and stuck it out over the flames. “I don’t think this counts as breakfast.” Curt muttered. “But I’m going to eat it anyway.”

Owen smiled and began to dig through one of the ration boxes in search of his own breakfast. He pulled out a can of corn and a can of tuna. “I think we’re both in the same boat.” He took the can opener from Curt and sat down on the opposite side of the living room. “Cheers.” He said, puncturing the can of tuna.

It was silent in the living room for a while as Curt finished heating his ‘soup’ and Owen picked at his breakfast with a fork. Outside, birds were chirping and calling out; as if the world were completely normal. Owen opened the window next him and hummed along with the sounds of nature. “I once heard that, if all of the insects were to die, all life on Earth would perish within fifty years. But if all humans were to die, all life on Earth would flourish within fifty years.” Owen mused. “The idea was that nature does not need us; we’re merely visitors within the ecosystem.”

Curt only nodded. “Our visa must be up, then.” He took another bite of his breakfast and let the silence settle heavy once more. He wouldn’t look at Owen, and the awkwardness was palpable in the air.

Finally, Curt blurted, “I’m sorry about last night.” Then kicked himself.

“Oh?” Owen didn’t look up from his food. “What about last night?”

Curt tried to recover. “Uh, that I was so short with you as I went to bed. I was just… really tired.”

Owen shrugged, silently relieved that Curt thought his briskness was the only issue from last night. It meant that he didn’t suspect Owen of anything… untoward. “No worries. I didn’t think anything of it. We’ve had a very rough week.” He finally looked up and smiled.

Curt felt the tension roll off his shoulder. Owen didn’t suspect anything. That was good. “Yeah. A really rough week.” He smiled back. “But,” He shifted the topic of conversation, “What’s next? I mean, are we going to stay here? Try to move on and find other people?”

Owen polished off his can of corn and set it aside. “I think it’s smartest to stay here for as long as we can. Too much time out in the open could result in us getting stuck or ambushed.” Curt nodded. “So, I guess for now, we just keep trying the radio and we fill our time the best that we can.”

\----

For most of the morning and afternoon, Owen and Curt took turns trying the CB radio on different frequencies. While Curt was tinkering with it, Owen would read. While it was Owen’s turn, Curt would nap or organize their supplies.

After he’d messed with the radio for a few hours a second time, Owen stood up and stretched. It was mid-day; maybe around 3 o’clock, and the taller man was getting a little restless. “Here, Curt, it’s your turn.” He said, handing Curt the headset. “I’m going to go upstairs for a little while.”

As Owen climbed the stairs, he heard Curt say into the mic. “Hello? This is Special Agent Curt Mega. Is anyone there?” Static followed.

Once upstairs, Owen changed back into his jeans. The too-short pajama bottoms were bothering him, and it felt good to be back in the worn denim. He contemplated taking a nap, but the sheer curtains on the windows made the room too bright. Hoping that he might find a blanket to throw over the curtain rod, Owen opened the closet door and went in. It was filled with odds and ends; boxes, blankets, old dresses and winter coats. Books were stacked on the shelf that ran above the hangers, and an old crockpot gathered dust in the corner.

“Wow.” Owen said, looking at all the junk. In taking a full, sweeping look of the closet, he noticed a hatch in the ceiling. He had to jump a little in order reach the handle, but once he grabbed on, he pulled open the hatch and ducked as a ladder slid down to the floor. “Nice.” Owen muttered, grabbing onto a rung of the ladder and climbing up into the attic.

The attic was brightly lit from a window on the south end, and it was crammed full of boxes, trunks, and furniture. Owen opened a trunk near him and began to rifle through. It was filled with men’s clothing, all of which looked to be about Owen’s size. He found three more pairs of jeans and a few T-shirts that would fit him and threw them down into the closet below. He also found a leather jacket in the same trunk and shrugged into it. In the pocket was a crumbled pack of cigarettes. “Score.” Owen said, slipping them back in the pocket. He’d have one later this evening.

He moved through the attic, rifling through trunks and drawers. He came across photos of Curt as a child, Mrs. Mega’s wedding dress, and an old tennis racket that was bent out of shape. He got distracted looking through a box of records, and before long, the sun was setting and the attic was growing dark. So, Owen grabbed the tabletop record player and his favorite album and climbed back down the ladder.

When Owen came back down into the living room, Curt was gone. Static filled the room from the radio, and Owen went over to turn it off. He looked out the still open window and saw Curt standing with his back to the house, urinating in the yard.

Owen turned away from the window to give Curt some privacy and set the record player on the coffee table. The record he’d chosen was La Valse A Mille Temps by Jacques Brel. He set the record on the player, and “Je T’aime” poured softly and cheerily out and filled the living room. He picked up the matchbox and lit one of the cigarettes. They were stale, but they would do the trick. He took a long drag of the cigarette as Curt came back into the room.

Owen nodded towards the record player. “I found—”

“Where did you get that?” Curt said, pointing to the leather jacket Owen was wearing.

“Uh, the attic.” Owen said.

“It belonged to my dad.” Curt said, a weird look on his face.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Owen took it off quickly. “I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry, Curt, I forgot… I didn’t think before I… here.” He held it out.

“It’s… it’s fine.” Curt took a deep breath and shook his head. He smiled a bit and said, “You can wear it. I was just surprised. That’s all.” Owen hesitated. “Really, it’s fine.” He shrugged. “It looks… good on you.”

Owen slowly put the jacket back on. The night air pouring in from the window was making the living room a little chilly, so he was grateful for a jacket that fit him. Curt sat down in front of the fire and put another log on. “You hungry?” Owen asked.

“Not really.” Curt shrugged.

“Me neither.” Owen finished his first cigarette and lit a second as the record changed to a new song. Ne Me Quitte Pas flowed mournfully around them.

“What are we listening to?” Curt asked.

“Ne Me Quitte Pas. By Jacques Brel.” Owen said.

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s one of my favorites. I learned to waltz to it.” Owen said, putting his arms up in a pantomime of holding a partner and began to waltz around the living room.

Curt scoot back up against the couch to give Owen more room. “I didn’t know you could dance.”

“How else would I seduce female Russian informants?” Owen said around his cigarette.

Curt snorted a laugh and watched as Owen’s dancing swelled along with the music. “What’s the song about?”

“Jacques is asking his lover to stay with him. He sings ‘Ne me quitte pas. Je t'inventerai des mots insensés que tu comprendras. Je te parlerai de ces amants-là qui ont vu deux fois leurs cœurs s'embraser’.” He spun quickly around the room. “It means ‘Don’t leave me. I will invent for you fanciful words that you'll understand. I will tell you about those lovers who have twice seen their hearts set ablaze’. He sings about the things he would do to get his lover to stay with him, and failing that, he will at least watch from a distance as they are happy without him.”

“Wow.” Curt said, then asked,“Do you speak French?”

“Oui.” Owen said. “My mother insisted that my sister and I be multi-lingual. Plus, I’m European. Having more than one language comes in handy a lot.”

“I took a little bit of French in college.” Curt shrugged.

“Ah, vraiment?” Owen stopped dancing for a moment and took the cigarette out of his mouth. “Tu parles encore? Ou pas de tout?”

His accent was amazing, and Curt’s heart skipped a beat. “Uh… oui?”

Owen laughed and began dancing again. “I think you meant to say ‘non’.”

Curt shrugged, then fell silent as he watched Owen waltz around the living room, the fire softening the edges of his moves. Curt was absolutely mesmerized. He smiled softly and watched as Owen moved fluidly around the room, dipping and twirling his imaginary partner. A small voice in the back of Curt’s mind whispered, “ _Is this love?”_

Red-faced, Curt dropped his eyes and looked away. His heart was beating rapidly and he scolded himself.

The music came slowly to a halt, and Owen stopped dancing and reached down to start the piece over again. “I hope you don’t mind.” He said, and the song started from the beginning. “It’s my favorite.”

“Sure.” Curt muttered, still staring at the floor.

Owen, who was now watching Curt carefully, wondered what he did wrong this time that Curt wouldn’t look him in the eye. He snubbed out his cigarette and put the match book in his pocket for later. “Do you dance?”

Curt laughed and finally looked up at Owen. “Not at all.” He gestured at his feet. “I’ve got two left feet. But you were incredible.”

Owen smiled. “Thanks.”

The pair fell silent and listened as Ne Me Quitte Pas filled the silence with a mournful longing neither would acknowledge.

\----

Nearby, a horde of Infected had shambled their way out of the city on the scent of a deer and were jostling each other and tripping over branches as they wandered mindlessly through the woods.

At the front of the pack, the sound of a sad French song provided a new stimulus, and the Infected began to turn in the direction of the noise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh! Our heroes may be falling for each other, but danger is right around the corner...


	7. Chapter 7

The next day, Curt was in the front yard gathering firewood when he saw the first Infected emerge through the trees. It had been dead for a long time, and it was missing an arm. On seeing Curt, it changed its trajectory to head for the spy, and it growled a low, guttural moan. Curt rolled his eyes at the minor inconvenience and held his axe up in swinging position as he stepped forward to meet the Infected.

Curt’s axe connected with the head of the Infected, and it crumpled to the ground. “Take that.” Curt said, pulling his axe out of the head. When he looked up, though, he could see that the Infected wasn’t alone.

A horde of what looked like fifty or more Infected were shambling through the trees in Curt’s direction. They’d heard him take out their friend, and now they were on his scent. “Fuck.” Curt said, gripping his axe and running into the house. He slammed the front door behind him and grabbed the emergency packs from the hallway. They were heavy, as Owen had spent time over the last few days filling them with supplies.

“OWEN!” Curt yelled, taking the stairs two at a time. “OWEN!”

“What?” Owen flung the door to his room open. He was shirtless and rubbing his eyes, Curt having woken him up from a nap.

“We gotta go.” Curt said, throwing one emergency pack at him. “Now.”

“What’s going on?” Owen snapped to high alert and pulled a t-shirt over his head. He shrugged the leather jacket on and threw a change of clothes into the top of his pack. He hesitated, then threw a change of clothes in for Curt, too.

“There’s a horde coming up the hill, and they’re closing in quickly.” Curt went over to the window and looked down. The Infected were now on the lawn. “Correction. They’re already here.”

“Can we get to the car?” Owen asked, cocking his gun and checking the silencer as he tightened the straps on his backpack.

“They’re surrounding the car.” Curt said. “There’s about fifty of them. Maybe more in the trees.”

“Fuck.” Owen muttered.

“That’s what I said.”

Owen came over and peered out the window. “They’re mostly concentrated on the right side of the house. If we can get them all to move around farther to the right and away from the car, we have a shot of getting out through the garage.”

“I have an idea.” Curt said, and he strode out of Owen’s room and across the hall to the master bedroom. There, he unscrewed the silencer on his gun and opened a window. “If I fire my gun out of the window, maybe they’ll hear the noise and come around to the back.” He took a letter opener off his mother’s desk and stabbed the window screen, carving open a hole for him to point his gun into. “Go watch from your room and tell me what happens.”

Owen jogged back across the hall and looked out the window as he heard a gunshot sound from the back of the house. He watched as the Infected listened, then began to push forward harder against the house and scratch at the wood. “It didn’t work.” Owen said as Curt came back in the room. “They just registered that the sound was in front of them, so they’re trying to move forward. They don’t understand that there’s an object in front of them.”

“Shit. OK, we need a new plan.”

Owen snapped his fingers and grabbed Curt’s arm. “Fireworks!”

“What?”

“I saw a box of fireworks in the garage. We could light a handful of firecrackers and toss them to the side of the house. Hopefully that will lure them far enough away from the car.”

“Owen, you’re a genius!” Curt said, and the other man smiled.

Curt took off down the stairs and crossed the main level in a hurry. He threw open the door to the garage and found the box of firecrackers. “Do you still have the book of matches?” He asked when he got back upstairs.

“Here.” Owen handed over the matches. “Let’s hope this works.”

Curt went into his bedroom and flung open the window. He cut a slit in the window screen again and ripped it large enough to stick his upper body out. Lighting the fuse on a handful of firecrackers, he chucked them as far into the woods as he could manage. There was a few seconds of silence, then loud popping noises reverberated around the forest as the crackers exploded.

Owen was still standing at the window of his bedroom, and he called out to Curt, “It’s working! They’re moving away from the house.”

“Let’s do the same, then.”

Curt and Owen thudded down the stairs in the direction of the garage, Curt tightening the silencer back onto his gun as he went. “We’re going to have to turn the generator on to get the garage door open.” Owen said. So we’ll throw the switch, hit the open button, and roll out immediately. The sound of the door opening might make some of them turn around, so we’ll have to get to the car fast.”

“Sounds good.” Curt said, holding his gun at the ready.

“On three.” Owen said, throwing the switch on the generator. The lights in the garage flickered on and somewhere in the house, a radio began to blast. “One… two… three!” He slammed the garage door button and ran to stand next to Curt, his gun ready.

The second the door was high enough to crawl under, the two spies dropped down and rolled out of the garage. Curt popped up immediately and put two bullets into the Infected that were nearest Owen.

“Thanks.” Owen said, standing up quickly. He shot another Infected that was near the driver’s side door.

The two men ran towards the car, throwing open the doors and climbing in. “Let’s get out of here!” Owen said, throwing his seatbelt on and looking at Curt in the driver’s seat.

“Fuck!” Curt exclaimed, feeling his pockets. “The keys are inside!”

“What?!” Owen yelled back.

“I can fix this.” Curt said, pulling the plastic off the underside of the dashboard. “Just give me a second.”

“Curt, we don’t have—” Owen was cut off by the sound of the car alarm going off.

“Shit!” Curt exclaimed, yanking out a handful of wires from the dash. The alarm died just as quickly. “Hold these.” He shoved the wires into Owen’s hands.

“Curt, we need to go!” Owen said, throwing the wires onto the floor. “They see us, and they’re coming this way.” Sure enough, the horde was turning around and heading for the car.

“Just a second.”

“Curt!” Owen yelled, drawing his gun and pointing it at the window. “We’re running out of seconds!” Two Infected had slammed their hands on the hood of the car, and another was clawing at Curt’s window.

The car sparked to life, and Queen’s Don’t Stop Me Now blared on full blast. “Got it!” Curt yelled over the music.

“ _I’m a shootin’ star leaping through the skkyyyy like a tiger!”_

“Get us out of here!” Owen yelled, and Curt punched the car into reverse and tore out of the driveway, running over three Infected as he did.

_“I wanna go, go, goooo, there’s no—”_

“Hush, Freddie.” Curt said, hitting the power button on the media dashboard and slowing down their speed to a reasonable pace.

“That was way too close.” Owen said. “I can’t believe you left the keys in the fucking house!”

“Hey!” Curt snapped. “It was a high-intensity situation. I didn’t think to check my pockets for the key!”

“Curt, you have to be prepared for shit like this!” Owen yelled, smacking his hands on the dash. “We could’ve died today!”

“But we didn’t!” Curt yelled back. “I got the car started, so you’re fucking welcome!” He flipped Owen off, and Owen flipped his middle finger back before crossing his arms and staring out the window.

They drove in silence for a while before Curt said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“Me too.” Owen said. “We just need to be better prepared next time.”

“Well, at least I can’t forget the keys again.” Curt smiled at Owen.

The taller man scowled back for only a second before it turned into a grin. “Fine, I’ll give you that.”

“Where should we go now?”

“Well, we can’t go back to the city. It’ll be overrun. We have to find maybe a small town or something; some place that will be small enough to not have a lot of Infected, but big enough to have easy access to supplies”

“Let’s start driving south through New Jersey. We might be able to find a small town with a supermarket.”

“South it is.”

\----

The two men drove south through Jersey for two hours, stopping only once to pee and switch drivers. They took almost every exit and scoped out towns trying to find one that seemed safe enough to stop in.

They were back on the highway driving away from another overrun town when the sun went down, and darkness settled around them. “Should we stop or drive through the night?” Curt asked from the passenger seat.

“Probably keep going.” Owen said. “There’s another exit coming up.”

Just as he said it, though, the car lost speed and began to coast along until it rolled to a stop. “What happened?” Curt asked, sitting straight up in his seat.

“Fuck!” Owen pounded on the steering wheel. “We’re out of gas.”

“How did that happen?” Curt asked.

“Probably because we drove all day.” Owen snarked, then winced. “Sorry. The point is, we’re out of gas and we’re not going anywhere else today.” He punched the steering wheel again and untangled the wires in the dash to shut the car off.

“So… What now?” Curt asked.

“Well, now we sleep in the car. We’re going to have to set out on foot tomorrow.” Owen sighed and leaned his seat as far back as it would go.

Curt followed Owen’s lead and leaned back, too. The two men stared at the ceiling in silence, their guns in the cupholders in case they needed them. Curt could see the stars through the sunroof, and he could hear Owen’s every breath in the small space. It was surprisingly comforting.

Owen closed his eyes and concentrated on slowing his breathing down, hoping that he might fall asleep quickly. He was almost there, when Curt whispered, “Owen?”

“Yeah?” Owen whispered back, though he wasn’t sure why they were whispering.

“Do you… do you think there’s other survivors out there?” Curt asked.

Owen looked over at the other man, and saw that Curt was staring at him with a worried expression. “I don’t know.” Owen said quietly. “I hope so. But if I’m honest, I don’t think we’ll find them. The world’s too big.”

Curt sighed. “I know.” He turned his body away to face the car door. “I just wish that more of my friends and family would have made it. That we weren’t scared and alone.”

“Me too.” Owen whispered, and turned to face his own door. “Me too.”

In the darkness, the two men closed their eyes and pretended they couldn’t hear the other one crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day? Crazy... Well, the fluff is over for now! It'll be back, but these two gotta get the hell outta dodge first.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a trigger warning for some disturbing imagery and a mention of suicide.

“Here, drink this.” Curt said, passing Owen a water bottle. They were standing next to the dead car on the highway, adjusting their packs and polishing off two granola bars each.

“Thanks.” Owen said, finishing the water bottle. “We should probably walk until we find something. We’ll take the next exit and walk until we find a town. Or, until we find a new car.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Curt said, stowing the box of granola bars in his backpack and tightening the straps. “Shall we?”

They walked in silence for a while, listening to the sound of birds and jumping at every slight rustle in the trees. Curt was tense; he hated being out in the open like this. They were exposed, and if they were cornered somewhere, they wouldn’t have a lot of options. Likewise, Owen was equally as tense. The quiet was good—it meant that nothing was around to attack them. However, the stillness was unsettling, and Owen kept fidgeting with his gun and occasionally touching the grenade in the pocket of his jacket.

After they had walked a mile, they came upon an exit for a town. “Chesterfield.” Curt read. “Sounds promising.”

“Let’s try it.” Owen said, walking onto the off-ramp with Curt in tow behind him.

They walked another twenty minutes in silence before Curt asked quietly, “What’s your favorite color?”

“What?” Owen shot him a puzzled look. “Why?”

“Walking in silence is boring.” Curt said, shrugging.

“Boring?” Owen said with a scoff. “This isn’t a nature hike, Curt. We’re trying to survive.”

“Humor me, OK?” Curt asked. “The silence is… unnerving.”

Owen sighed. But he agreed with Curt. “My favorite color is red.”

“What shade?”

“Uh, the color of my mother’s lipstick.”

Curt looked at him quizzically.

“She wore the same shade for twenty years. It was this bright, ruby red that my dad hated. He called her a whore for wearing it…” Owen trailed off momentarily. “But after he died, she wore it everyday until she passed. I love that color.” He smiled. “You?”

“It’s not as deep, but I like that shade of blue that you find on bus stops. It just looks nice.” Curt shrugged. “Favorite song? Oh wait, yours is that No Me Quit Pan, right?”

“Ne Me Quitte Pas.” Owen smiled again. “What’s yours?”

Curt struck a pose in the middle of the road and began to sing. “You’ve been hit by! You’ve been struck by! A smooth criminal!”

“Michael Jackson?” They kept walking once more.

“Oh yeah. I love Michael Jackson.” Curt beamed.

“I’ve got one for you, then: favorite slow song?”

“Yellow by Coldplay.”

“Really?” Owen said. “Coldplay?”

“What? I lost my virginity to that song.” Curt said.

Owen began to laugh. “Oh my god, are you joking?”

“What’s so terrible about that song?”

“What woman in her right mind is about to have sex with you and she goes ‘I know what will make this better: fucking COLDPLAY.’” Owen was laughing harder now, and Curt shoved him playfully.

Curt didn’t bother correcting Owen on the pronouns he’d assumed for his first lover. “They weren’t fucking Coldplay, they were fucking ME.” Curt said, and dissolved into giggles himself as Owen started laughing even harder. “What song did you lose your virginity to, then?”

Owen wiped the tears from his eyes. “I didn’t lose my virginity to a song ‘cause I wasn’t a teenager in a shitty rom com.”

Curt threw his hands up in playful defense. “OK, OK. Whatever you say.”

They were silent for a minute, then Owen said, “There was a bed covered in roses, though.”

“Oh my god, no!” Curt howled with laughter. “That’s terrible!”

“I was sixteen! I thought it’d be romantic.” Owen laughed. “Instead, it was a literal thorn in my arse.”

Curt was now nearly incapacitated by laughter, and Owen was giggling right alongside him. It felt good to laugh again. They’d almost forgotten what it felt like.

A rustling in the underbrush near them stopped their laughter and snapped them to high-alert. The two men swung their guns to point at the rustling, and they watched as an Infected crawled its way out from a bush. It was missing its body from the waist down and was dragging its upper body along by its arms. It let out a low moan and was swiping at the air in their direction. It wasn’t strong enough to pull itself up on the road, though.

The color drained from Owen’s face. “We need to keep walking.”

\----

After leaving the halved Infected, they had walked in silence for hours. Though they hadn’t seen any other Infected, the tension was back, and all of the fun had been sucked out of their question game.

They stopped to rest around noon, and after sharing a can of corn and drinking more water, they pressed on. Curt’s feet hurt, and Owen’s legs were exhausted, but they continued on without complaint. They didn’t have a choice.

After a few more hours of walking in silence, Owen grabbed Curt’s arm and pointed. “There’s a car.”

Sure enough, a red car was parked on the side of the road. All of the doors were open and supplies littered the road. “It looks like the had to abandon it in a hurry.” Curt said.

“Be careful approaching it.” Owen said, cocking his gun and raising it. Curt did the same, and they approached the car slowly. When they reached it, Owen dropped to the pavement to look underneath it while Curt circled the vehicle.

“Clear.” They said at the same time, slipping the safety back onto the guns and sliding them back into their belts.

Curt began to rummage through the supplies on the ground. “There’s a lot of canned food.” He said. “That’s good.” He began to throw cans into his backpack.

“Make sure to grab those matches.” Owen said, pointing at a matchbook near Curt’s hand. Curt picked it up and threw it into his backpack.

Owen circled the car himself, looking for anything of value. When he reached the back door behind the driver’s side, he noticed a blanket on the seat. He reached in carefully and lifted the blanket.

Owen let out a yell and fell backwards onto the pavement, scrambling quickly away from the car. His gun fell out of his belt and he accidentally kicked it away from him.

“What?” Curt shot up and drew his gun. Owen was trembling on the pavement and he pointed shakily at the backseat.

Curt looked in the car. Laying on the backseat was a baby. It was Infected and missing an arm, and the arm it had left was reaching out for Curt. There were bite marks and flesh missing on its stomach and its mouth was opening and closing soundlessly.

“Holy shit.” Curt said, taking a step back and raising his gun out of instinct. He fired a single round and put the baby out of its misery.

Behind him, Owen was vomiting on the pavement.

“Owen?” Curt asked softly once the other man had finished getting sick. “Are you OK?”

“No, I’m not fucking OK!” Owen snapped, his demeanor suddenly changing from shock to rage.

“Calm down.” Curt said, trying to walk over to where Owen sat.

“Calm down?!” Owen stood up and closed the distance between them. “How you can you be so cavalier about this?” He jutted a finger at the car. “That was a BABY, Curt. Something that used to be human took a bite out of a CHILD! This is the world we’re living in now!”

“Owen…”

“NO!” Owen was hysterical now. “You still don’t GET IT, Curt!” He was throwing his hands around wildly. “This whole GODDAMN planet is gone. We’re FUCKED! There’s nothing left of humanity!” He got into Curt’s face. “We’re living in a hell planet in which PEOPLE. Fucking. EAT. BABIES!” He spun around. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t live like this. Where’s my gun?”

“No, Owen, stop.” Curt reached out and grabbed Owen’s arm.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” Owen yelled, and Curt released him.

“Owen, I need you to calm down. You’re in shock.”

“And how are you NOT?” Owen yelled. “There is a DEAD BABY in that car, Curt. Something ATE it.”

“Please, stop talking about the baby.” Curt said quietly, trying to manage his own shock and horror.

“I don’t understand how you can stand there and NOT talk about it. We’re going to DIE out here, Curt, and there’s nothing—” Owen gripped his chest. His breathing was shallow and rapid, and he sank to his knees on the pavement. He was gasping for air and his hands where searching the pavement for something solid to hold onto.

“Owen?” Curt rushed over and put his hands on Owen’s shoulders. The taller man had a panicked look in his eye and he grabbed a handful of Curt’s t-shirt. “Owen, you’re having a panic attack.” Curt said calmly. “Look at me. Deep breath in. One, two, three, four, five. Hold it. One, two, three. And out. One, two, three, four, five.” Curt continued to lead Owen in the breathing exercise until he had sufficiently calmed down.

“C’mon.” Curt said, gently helping Owen to his feet. “Let’s set up camp for the night. It’ll be dark soon, and I think we need a rest.”

\----

It was sunset now, and Curt and Owen were halfway up a tree half a mile from the red car. Curt had guided Owen to the spot and Owen had sat quietly at the base of the tree while Curt strung up the hammock and opened cans of food for their dinner. He’d set a can of green beans down next to Owen, but the Brit didn’t move to eat it, and eventually, Curt had to eat it, so it wouldn’t go to waste. The whole time, Owen was stone-faced, staring straight ahead without saying a single word. It was worrying Curt.

Finally, Curt had encouraged Owen to get up and climb the tree to one of the branches near the hammock. Now, they sat on nearby branches, their backs against the trunk, watching the world grey and darken around them.

“I can see Orion.” Curt said, pointing up at the sky as the stars winked into focus. He glanced over at Owen, hoping the other man would respond. He didn’t. “And there’s Gemini. And that’s—”

“I’m sorry.” Owen said softly, interrupting Curt’s ramblings.

“Oh thank god.” Curt said in a rush. “You’re talking.”

“I’m sorry I freaked out.” Owen rubbed a hand over his face and when he looked over at Curt, he seemed to be back to himself.

“No, don’t apologize.” Curt said. “I’m surprised I didn’t freak out, too.”

“I think…” Owen was fidgeting with his hands. “I think I just got overwhelmed. With the whole situation we’re in. And then seeing the…”

“We don’t have to talk about it.” Curt said gently. “You don’t need to explain yourself, either.”

Owen was silent for a moment. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Curt smiled, then went back to looking up at the sky.

It was silent for a moment, then Owen began to sing. “ _Look at the stars. Look how they shine for you_.”

Curt looked over and saw Owen’s shit-eating grin and began to laugh. “Fuck off.” Owen started laughing, too.

After a moment, Owen yawned. “We should probably go to sleep if we’re going to keep walking tomorrow.”

“Go ahead.” Curt gestured towards the hammock.

Owen carefully lowered himself into the hammock and settled in. “Are you not sleeping?”

Curt held up a piece of rope. “There’s only one hammock. I figured I’d sleep here. If I tie myself to the branch, I can’t fall off.”

“Curt, that’s insane.” Owen said. “Just… just come share the hammock.”

The stared at each other as a hundred implications settled in the air between them, and each was convinced the other was unaware of it.

Finally, Curt said, “Fine.”

Owen braced the hammock on the branch next to him as Curt carefully slid in next to him. They lay with their backs against each other, and Curt’s heart felt like it was going to explode. Next to him, Owen has holding his breath in attempt to slow his own heartrate.

Neither spoke for several seconds, until Curt finally blurted, “Goodnight!”

“Night.” Owen whispered back.

Eventually, the two relaxed and fell into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the Ol' "oh no, there's only one bed" Trope, but like, worse.


	9. Chapter 9

It was only a few hours past midnight when Curt jerked awake. He was disoriented, and it took him a moment to get his bearings. The canvas of the hammock cradled him, and Owen’s back was still plastered up against Curt’s. The other man was snoring softly, and Curt felt the rise and fall of his torso in the tight space.

That wasn’t what had awoken Curt, though, and it took a moment for Curt to realize there was a loud, low noise coming from the ground below them. Curt peeked over the side of the hammock, trying hard not to jostle Owen and wake him up. When he looked towards the ground, he immediately jerked back and his hand instinctively flew behind him to Owen and dug into his thigh.

Owen snorted awake. “Shh.” Curt cautioned before Owen could speak. “Look over the side.”

Owen carefully looked down to the ground below them, then snapped back into the hammock and grabbed onto Curt’s forearm in terror.

As the two men lay suspended, a giant horde of two hundred Infected moved through the forest floor directly underneath them. Their moans and growls created a cacophony in the dark, and Curt was momentarily convinced this would be the last sound he ever heard.

Owen listened to the horde moving beneath them and dug his nails deeper into Curt’s arm. As long as they didn’t draw attention to themselves, they would be fine, he reasoned. Still, he wondered if this would be the end of the road for them.

The two lay frozen in the hammock for an hour, listening to the horde move through the forest. Finally, the noise began to fade, and when Owen looked over the side again, the group had thinned out and only a few stragglers remained, limping behind the group as it headed towards the highway.

“They’re gone.” Owen whispered into the dark.

“Good.” Curt said, but neither released their grip on the other.

“Uh, Curt, your nails are digging into me.” Owen said, finally releasing the other man’s arm.

“Oh, uh, sorry.” Curt said, un-sticking his hand from Owen’s thigh. “I was just—”

“No, I understand.” Owen said.

They were still back-to-back and they couldn’t see the other’s face. “That was terrifying.” Curt whispered.

“Yeah.”

“I’m still shaking.” Curt said, and it was true. He was trembling from the adrenaline.

“We’re OK.” Owen said, reaching behind him and patting Curt’s hip awkwardly. “Let’s just try to go back to sleep.”

Curt didn’t think it was possible, but before he knew it, exhaustion had taken over, and both were asleep once more.

\----

The next day, they started walking again. Storm clouds gathered behind them and slowly chased them as they continued to make their way down the road towards Chesterfield. Both men were exhausted from the night before, so neither spoke as they trudged along.

The sky was growing darker and thunder rumbled in the distance when Curt spoke. “It’s going to storm.”

“We have to make it to the town.” Owen said solemnly. “I’m not sleeping in the open again.”

Curt nodded and kept following Owen as he pushed on. Finally, as the first raindrops began to fall, they crested a hill and a large sign greeted them. _Welcome to Chesterfield, New Jersey! When you’re here, you’re home._

“Finally!” Curt said, pointing ahead. “There’s a neighborhood right there. If we hurry, we can make it to one of the houses before the storm starts.”

“Just stay alert as we run.” Owen said, drawing his gun and checking the chamber. “We can’t get caught off guard.”

They took off running towards the neighborhood and reached it in ten minutes. Curt slowed his pace as the reached the first few houses. “We don’t want to stray too far from the road.” He said. “We’ll need to be able to reach the town for supplies.”

“Look for a house with a fenced-in yard.” Owen said. That way at least one half of the house is protected.”

Curt and Owen jogged along the street until Curt said, “Here!” He pointed to a house at the end of the block, the only one with a fenced-in yard. He tried the door and it was locked. “Do you still have the crowbar?”

Owen dug in his bag. “Stand back.” He said, pulling the crowbar from his backpack and jamming it into the doorframe. Curt took a few steps back. “When I get the door open, we’ll need to do a sweep of the house. You take first floor and basement, I’ll take second floor. Just like last time.”

“What’s our record? Six minutes?”

“I don’t like that look in your eye.” Owen said. “We don’t need speed here, we need accuracy.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Curt waved a hand dismissively. Thunder growled overhead, and the sky opened up. It began to downpour. “Just pop the door.”

Owen braced himself, then leaned all of his weight on the crowbar. The door strained momentarily, then popped open with a soft bang as it hit the opposite wall. The two men drew their guns and swarmed into the house.

Owen ran silently up the stairs to the second floor while Curt swept the main level. The house was small, so within a matter of a minute, he had searched the living room, dining room, kitchen, and closets, and was making his way down to the basement. It was an unfinished basement with no other doors, so Curt only needed a cursory glance to know that it was empty. He decided to check the backyard quickly. He stuck his head out the back door and regretted it instantly as his hair was immediately soaked.

Upstairs, Owen moved from room-to- room, throwing open closet and bathroom doors, and checking under beds. There were three bedrooms, and Owen hesitated in the doorway of the first room. It was decorated for a young child, with toys and books strewn out on the floor. He said a silent prayer of hope that the child wasn’t somewhere in the room, and then he went in. It was clear.

The guest bedroom and bathroom were empty as well, so Owen moved on to the master bedroom. He checked the room and under the bed and moved into the bathroom.

“All clear!” He heard Curt shout from downstairs. “How’s it looking upstairs?”

“Pretty clear!” Owen said as he walked into the bathroom. It was huge, with a soaking tub, a fancy-looking shower, and a jack-and-jill vanity. A large window overlooked the backyard, and the storm was gathering speed outside. A door to a walk-in-closet was on the other side of the bathroom, and Owen strode over to inspect it.

When he threw open the door, a large Infected came tumbling through, grabbing Owen by the shoulders and catching him off guard. “Curt!” Owen yelled, stumbling backwards into the shower door.

The door buckled under the weight of two men and shattered as Owen fell backwards into the stall. A white-hot pain shot through his shoulder and he cried out, desperately trying to maneuver the Infected off of him.

Curt came pounding up the stairs, his gun drawn. The second he entered the bathroom, he took aim, and the Infected’s head snapped sideways and it stopped moving.

“Shit.” Owen said, resting his head on the floor of the shower. “That was close.”

“What happened?”

“It was hiding. I didn’t see it until it was too late.”

Curt held out a hand for Owen to grab. As soon as Owen gripped it and Curt began to pull, Owen cried out in pain. “Ow! Ow, wait!” He said. “I think I hurt my shoulder.” He offered Curt his other hand, and Curt carefully pulled Owen to his feet. “Where’s my gun?” Owen asked, turning around.

“Oh holy shit.” Curt stuttered, pointing at Owen’s back. “There’s a huge piece of glass in your shoulder.”

Owen glanced over his good shoulder and looked in the mirror above the vanity. “Oh… fuck.” Sure enough, a large chunk of glass was sticking out of his right shoulder.

“We need to get that out.” Curt said, throwing open cabinets and drawers in the bathroom. “There’s gotta be a first aid kit around here somewhere.” Owen wiggled his shoulder, then winced. He definitely felt that. “Go sit down on the bed.” Curt gestured to the bedroom.

Owen walked, dazed and confused over to the bed and sat down. He stared blankly at his hands, and watched as a small cut, previously unnoticed, blossomed red on his right palm.

There was a large fireplace in the corner of the room, and after locating towels and a first aid kit, Curt ran downstairs for his backpack. He had to dig around for a while before he found the matches, but he managed to get a fire going. Outside, the storm was in full swing and lightning lit up the room at random intervals. A loud thunderclap directly above them made Owen jump slightly. But he relaxed again as the warmth and glow of the fire spread through the room.

“Here,” Curt handed him a towel. “Bite down on this.” Owen did as he was told and let out a muffled cry as Curt pulled the glass from his shoulder. He gripped the base of Owen’s shirt. “I need to take this off.” With the glass gone, Owen was able to move his shoulder easier, and he lifted his arms as Curt pulled the t-shirt over his head.

Curt inspected the wound in the firelight. “It doesn’t look like it was very deep, and you can still move your arm. I think you’re going to be OK.” He smiled softly, pouring water from one of the water bottles onto a washcloth. He rubbed a pump of soap from the bathroom into the washcloth and said, “This might hurt.” And he touched the washcloth to Owen’s open wound. Owen winced, and Curt put his other hand on Owen’s left shoulder. “You OK?”

“Yeah, it just stings.” Owen closed his eyes and listened to the thunderstorm outside while Curt continued to clean the cut.

“This is going to be cold.” Curt said softly, holding the washcloth under the cut and pouring water from the bottle onto Owen’s bare back. Owen twitched, but he stilled himself quickly. He didn’t want Curt to have to clean up a mess. “How are you doing?”

“Better.” Owen said quietly.

Curt drug the wish cloth slowly up and down Owen’s shoulder, drying off the wound and the skin around it. Then, he pulled out a tube of Neosporin and lightly placed his fingertips on Owen’s skin.

Owen closed his eyes and relaxed into Curt’s touch. His fingers ran lightly over the skin of Owen’s shoulder, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Owen pictured Curt’s face—the way his nose scrunched up when he concentrated, the hard set of his jaw, and the curve of his lips. He pushed back slightly into Curt’s hand, craving more of his touch.

Curt carefully rubbed the antiseptic onto Owen’s cut, then, unable to stop himself, he began to trace his fingers along the skin around the wound. He could feel the lean muscles under Owen’s skin relax as he grazed them. He paused at freckles and traced the line of a scar near his shoulder blade. A tiny voice at the back of Curt’s head whispered, _“This is worship.”_

Rain pounded on the window, and Owen breathed deeply as Curt’s fingers wandered away from his cut and burned along the skin of his back. He could feel his blood draining south, and he cleared is throat. “Curt?”

Curt jerked his hand away from Owen’s back. “Almost done.” He ignored what just happened and placed a swatch of gauze on the wound and taped it down with medical tape. “Try not to sleep on it tonight. We can air it out tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” Owen said, turning around so that he was facing Curt on the bed. “I cut my hand, too.” He showed Curt the smear of blood on his palm.

Curt picked the washcloth up and poured a little more water on it. He laid Owen’s hand in his and softly gripped his wrist, gently placing the washcloth on his palm. “It’s just a scratch.” Curt said, looking up and meeting Owen’s eyes.

Owen turned his hand over and moved it lightly on Curt’s arm until the two were holding each other’s forearms. Then, Owen pulled Curt closer.

The first kiss was soft, barely even there. Owen’s lips brushed lightly over Curt’s, seeking permission.

The second kiss was bolder, no holding back. Owen parted his lips slightly and peppered kisses onto Curt’s. Curt smelled of Earth and rain, and his fingers curled as he gripped Owen’s arm tighter. Owen attempted to deepen the kiss, reaching up to touch Curt’s jaw and moaning slightly as he did.

Curt pulled away quickly and stood up. “We’re not… We’re not doing this.” He said quietly, refusing to make eye contact with Owen.

“Curt, I—”

Curt held up a hand. “Don’t sleep on your wound. I’ll see you in the morning.” He strode across the room and shut the bedroom door behind him.

Once alone, Owen grabbed the pillow on the bed in frustration, shoved it into his face, and screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only the first scene of this chapter was in the original outline of this fic. The fic's gone rogue. May God have mercy on our souls.


	10. Chapter 10

When Owen woke up the next morning, sunlight was streaming in through the bedroom window and the fire had gone out. He was still in his jeans and was sprawled across the bed.

After Curt had left, Owen had spent half the night tossing and turning and kicking himself for kissing Curt. He had been so sure that the other man felt the same way. Especially since Curt had kissed Owen back… But apparently, he had been wrong.

Heat flooded Owen’s face and he pressed his hands over his eyes. “Fuck.” Owen muttered. “I just ruined everything.”

\----

Downstairs, Curt was waking up on the sofa. He, too, had had a long night.

_“We’re not doing this.” Curt said, fleeing the room shortly after. He snapped the door shut behind him and leaned against it, trying to catch his breath. He heard a muffled cry of frustration in the room behind him, and he punched the air. “Fuck!” He mouthed, trying not to make any noise._

_Pushing away from the door, Curt stomped downstairs and headed straight for the kitchen. His flashlight was still where he left it on the island counter, and he flicked it on and  began to throw open cabinets until he found a lonely bottle of Jack Daniels shoved to the back of a cabinet. It was half empty, but it would be enough to do the job._

_Curt threw the cap in the sink and drank deep from the bottle._

_Thunder clapped loudly overhead, and Curt felt the alcohol seep into his veins and smooth the tension from his shoulders. Curt took another long drink from the bottle and wandered back into the living room. The large living room window provided a view of the storm raging outside; lightning lit up the street, and Curt watched the wind whip trash, leaves, and rain around in every direction._

_He sat down in the window seat and leaned against the window pane. He watched the rain, counting the seconds between the lightning and thunder, and drinking more and more of the Jack. He could still taste Owen on his tongue; could still feel the soft heat of his lips. “You never learn, Mega.” He whispered._

_The storm reminded him of the first time he’d slept with Michael. It’d been storming then, too, and they’d lain in each other’s arms in the after-haze of their love-making and listened to the rain on the window. It was also the first time Curt had said ‘I love you’._

_Curt drained the rest of the Jack and set the empty bottle down on the floor. He closed his eyes and thought about Michael. The light in his eyes, the soft curve of his jaw, the fit of his hands into Curt’s. The car accident that took him from Curt…_

_Curt snapped his eyes open as they filled with tears._

_He had already fallen in love with Owen. He couldn’t lose like that again._

Now, Curt stirred on the couch and tried to shield his eyes from the sunlight. Luckily, he wasn’t hungover. He’d stayed awake too long wrestling with his thoughts and fighting the urge to go back upstairs and slip into bed next to Owen. By the time he’d fallen asleep, most of the alcohol was out of his system.

He sat up and rubbed his face, not ready to face Owen and the new day. It’s not like they could just avoid each other; they were the last two people on Earth. There was nowhere else for them to go.

There was a creak on the steps, and Curt snapped his head up. Owen was standing in the middle of the staircase. He was still shirtless, and Curt looked away. “Hey.” Owen said.

“Hey.” Curt said.

“About last night—” Owen started.

“Let’s pretend it never happened.” Curt said, finally looking up and meeting Owen’s eyes. “It was… a misunderstanding, that’s all.” He shrugged.

“Oh.” Owen said, trying to hide his disappointment. “Yeah. Let’s just forget it happened, then.”

“I need to change your bandage.” Curt said, standing up and starting up the staircase. “And we need to get ride of the Infected in the bathroom.”

Owen followed Curt up the stairs and sat patiently on the lip of the bathtub as Curt peeled his bandage off. “Looks like it’s healing.” Curt said, then roughly wiped the wound clean and slapped more Neosporin on it. Owen flinched and twitched in discomfort, but Curt didn’t acknowledge how rough he was being.

“Mind easing up a bit?” Owen asked, a tinge of annoyance in his voice. “You’re smacking my shoulder around like it didn’t have glass in it yesterday.”

“Sorry.” Curt said, not being any gentler as he smacked a fresh patch of gauze onto the wound and taped it down. “You’re done. Help me move this body.” He went over to the Infected and started to pick it up by its shoulders.

Owen tamped down another rush of embarrassment. Obviously, he’d fucked up last night more than he thought—Curt was mad at him.

Owen quietly crossed the bathroom and helped Curt lift the Infected. They didn’t speak as they maneuvered it out of the bedroom, down the stairs, and out the front door. Owen followed Curt’s lead, and they dumped the Infected unceremoniously onto the front lawn of the house across the street. Curt still didn’t speak as he turned right back around and walked back across the street and into the house.

Owen broke the silence as they crossed the threshold of the house. “Want me to make breakfast?”

“No.” Curt said, climbing the stairs. “I’m going to take a nap.” He shut the door to the guest room tightly behind him, leaving Owen confused and hurt at the bottom of the stairs.

Once the door was closed, Curt face-planted onto the bed and let out a grunt of frustration. He felt bad being so rough and cold to Owen, but if he was going to forget last night ever happened, he needed to emotionally distance himself for a while. He needed forget the feelings he had for Owen. He needed to forget how badly he had wanted to kiss him.

\----

Curt didn’t leave the guest room all day, and Owen filled that space and his day by stewing in his emotions. He swung from guilty and embarrassed that he’d kissed Curt, to sadness that his feelings weren’t reciprocated, to anger that Curt was taking the misunderstanding out on him. How were they supposed to pretend it never happened if Curt was refusing to even look at Owen?

To distract himself, he decided to go through the kitchen to see what supplies they had to work with. He spent the afternoon pulling cans and boxes out of the cabinets, organizing them by how quickly they would go bad, and restocking the emergency packs with cans and boxes of granola bars. Owen was looking through a drawer, trying to find another can opener, when he came across a pamphlet. _“Maintenance of your solar powered home is easy!”_ It said in big, bold letters on the front.

Owen flipped through the pamphlet, skimming through the information until he read, _“Even in mass power outages, your solar panels with still work! Your set up is designed with a reserve large enough to store power for three weeks! You’ll never be in the dark!”_

Owen looked up quickly from the pamphlet and reached out to flip a switch on the wall. The lights in the kitchen flickered on, and Owen rushed to the sink, turning the handle and gasping with relief as water rushed out. They had running water. Owen dropped the pamphlet and took the stairs two at a time, practically banging open the door to the hall bathroom in his rush to turn on the shower. He nearly cried when hot water began pouring out of the shower head.

He quickly stripped naked and carefully pulled the bandage off of his shoulder. Then, he stepped under the water and sighed deeply as the hot water washed away the dirt of the last several days. Owen let himself languish in the luxury of the hot shower, daydreaming about ex-lovers and thinking about his sister and cat, until the water started turning cold. Then, Owen shut the water off and wrapped himself in a towel before going back to the master bedroom. He’d taken the change of clothes out of his bag earlier and left them folded on the bed; now, he slipped into the clean clothes and felt like a new man.

They had power. They had running water. They had each other. Everything was going to be OK.

He hoped…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short and not great, so I'm sorry. I tried, though. I had to scrap a large portion of my outline and now i'm trying to figure out how to get to the next major plot point, so bear with me! Please leave a comment if you're enjoying reading!


	11. Chapter 11

_“Here.” Owen said, adjusting his position in bed. “Better?”_

_Curt laid back down on Owen’s chest. “Yes. Definitely.”_

_They were back in Curt’s apartment in New York, the window was open and the sounds of the city at night filtered in. Owen was reading a book and Curt was playing around on his phone. They were enjoying a quiet night in._

_Curt absentmindedly traced patterns on Owen’s arm as he played Candy Crush. Owen’s book rested on Curt’s arm, and Owen mirrored the lazy movements by drawing his hand across Curt’s back as he read._

_Cars whizzed past under the window, and Curt could hear faint music from a concert nearby in Central Park. He nestled further into Owen’s chest. “I love you.” Curt muttered._

_“I love you, too.”_

Curt rocketed up in bed. “Owen?” He whispered, looking to the other side of the bed—it was empty.

Curt fell back against his pillow and tried to reorient himself. He was in the guest room in the abandoned house in Chesterfield, New Jersey. The world had ended. His apartment was gone. Owen had kissed him two nights ago. Curt had rejected him.

Tears brimmed in his eyes, and he blinked them back; his chest hurt, and he had to take deep breaths to steady himself. A weight of sadness settled on his shoulders. It had only been a dream, but Curt felt, by merely waking up, he was mourning the loss of something essential.

He stood up and crossed to the door of the room. Curt stuck his head out into the hallway and listened carefully. The house was silent. Either Owen was still asleep, or he was downstairs. The coast was clear in the hallway, though, so Curt moved quickly into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. Out of habit, he turned the faucet on.

Water came out.

Curt was momentarily shocked, but he decided not to question it. He cupped his hands under the water and enjoyed the feeling of it running through his fingers. It felt like forever since he’d had running water, and he bent over the sink and splashed water over his face. The cool water dripped off his face and ran in rivulets down his jaw and neck, and he used the hand towel next to the sink to dry himself.

As he brought the towel down again and opened his eyes, Cynthia was standing next to him in the mirror. He jumped and nearly cried out. He looked away from the mirror at the empty space next to him, and then back at the mirror.

“You’re not really here.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Cynthia huffed. “I’m dead.” Curt swallowed a lump of guilt in his throat. “Don’t look at me like that.” Cynthia said. “It’s not your fault. Shit happens.”

“Cynthia, I’m so sorry…” Curt started.

Cynthia held up a hand. “Don’t be. I’m a figment of your guilty conscious, why would I care if you’re sorry? Besides, I’m not here for that.”

Curt squinted. “Then what are you here for?”

Cynthia leaned close to him in the mirror and jabbed a finger at him. “Because you need to get your shit together.”

“Excuse me?”

“Mega, you’ve always been painfully oblivious and stupidly hard headed, but running out on Owen takes the cake.”

Curt took a step back. “Fuck off, Cynthia. You don’t know the situation.”

Cynthia began to laugh. “Curt, I’m _part of you_. I know everything. You’re scared of losing Owen and that’s why you won’t let yourself be happy with him. You’re in love with him, and you’re afraid of being in love again.”

Curt was seething now. “Why are you torturing me?”

Cynthia shrugged. “I’m not doing anything. You’re torturing yourself.” She got close to him again. “You need to quit your tomfuckery and man up. You will lose Owen eventually; we all lose everyone eventually. It’s going to hurt equally as bad if you are in a relationship or not. You may as well be happy in the meantime.”

Curt shut his eyes tight and took a deep breath. “I can’t lose him.”

“You won’t have a choice.” Cynthia said quietly.

“I can’t.”

It was silent in the bathroom, and when Curt opened his eyes, Cynthia was gone. He let out a grunt of frustration and turned on the shower.

\-----

After his shower, Curt found himself dressed in fresh clothes and rummaging in the kitchen. It’s amazing how a simple shower can lift the spirits and make any situation feel less hopeless. Curt still didn’t want to see Owen, but at least now, he felt like he could handle it if the other man were to come downstairs.

Curt found a box of pop tarts in a cabinet and smiled. He loved pop tarts. Curt felt a rush of joy for the first time since the world went hell. He grabbed two packets of the box and wandered around the main floor of the house. Curt could tell that Owen had spent the day yesterday organizing and digging through the house. Piles of clothes were laying around the living room, presumably because Owen was trying to figure out which would fit each of them, and two large piles of books sat in the dining room. A sticky note was in front of each stack, Owen’s neat handwriting scrawled across them. One read “To Read”, the other read “In case of firewood”. Curt let out a laugh. It was just like Owen to make sure they were never in need of kindling, but at the same time, ensuring that they didn’t burn the books he wanted to read.

Curt reached over to the “To Read” pile and sifted through the titles. There were classics, like a collection of Edgar Allan Poe stories, a volume of Shakespearian comedies, and Nathaniel Hawthorne’s _The Scarlet Letter._ But there were other, more modern titles that didn’t strike Curt as something Owen would be into. Books from Louise Erdrich and Cormac McCarthy jumped out at Curt, and when he saw that the first three Harry Potter books were on the bottom of the pile, Curt laughed again.

He put the books back in the pile and wandered back into the kitchen. His second pack of Pop Tarts was almost finished, and he was still hungry. After polishing them off and crumbling both foil wrappers up to stick in the trash, Curt began opening more cupboard and drawers in search of something else to eat. He yanked open a junk drawer and began poking around inside. Screwdrivers, scissors, pens, and paperclips rolled around as Curt pawed through the drawer. Finding nothing of interest, Curt started to close it. Then, he saw a flash of color towards the back of drawer. Intrigued, he pulled the colorful packets out.

They were seed packets. One for sunflowers, one for carnations, and one for a rose bush. Curt turned them over in his hands and thought of his mother.

_“Curtis?” Mom Mega knocked softly on the door to her son’s bedroom. On the other side, she could hear Curt sobbing._

_“Curtis, honey, open the door please.”_

_There were a few sounds from the bedroom and thirteen-year-old Curt opened the door. “I don’t wanna talk about it, Mom.” He muttered._

_“I know, schmoo.” Mom Mega said, laying a hand gently on his shoulder. “But I want you to know that those boys had no right to say what they did. Your father left because he was a bad man. It had nothing to do with you.”_

_Curt began crying again. “It’s not fair!” He wailed._

_Mom Mega’s heart sank. “Curtis, honey, it’ll be OK.” She pulled him into a hug and held him until his sobs turned to hiccups and he had calmed down._

_She pulled out of the hug and took his hand. “Here, I want to do something with you.” She led him down the stairs and out into the backyard._

_Mom Mega pulled a packet of seeds out of her pocket and handed them to Curt. “Here, hun.”_

_Curt stared at the packet in bewilderment. “Uh… thanks?”_

_Mom Mega led him over to a spot next to the house where she’d set out a spade and a watering can. “My mom showed me this.” She knelt on the ground and began to dig a small hole with the spade. “Whenever something is weighed heavily on your soul, you dig a hole,” She sent the spade down and took the seed packet from her son. “And you whisper that heaviness into the hole. It can be a secret, a worry, or something you’re trying to let go.” She bent down and whispered into the hole. “Then, you plant a seed.” She dropped in a seed, covered it with dirt again, and put a little water on top. “The idea is that you give up the thing that’s burdening you, and it gives life to something new.”_

_Mom Mega pressed the seed packet into Curt’s hands. “Here. Now it’s your turn.”_

_Curt turned the packet over in his hands, then he picked up the spade and began to dig. He planted ten seeds that day—one for every mean thing his classmates had ever said to him._

Curt found a spade in the garage of the house, and he eventually found where Owen had put their emergency packs and he dug a water bottle out of one. Then, he went out into the backyard and closed the door quietly behind him.

It was mid-morning, and Curt could feel the chill of fall settling in. Winter would be here before they knew it, and it would make it harder to survive.

Birds were chirping somewhere nearby, and Curt found a patch of grass in the corner of the yard where he could dig in piece.

The ground was tough, but he pushed through. Eventually, he had a small hole that he could plant his first seed in. “I’m sorry, Cynthia.” He whispered into the hole. “I’m sorry that I left you and the others behind. I’m sorry that I couldn’t help more. I’m sorry that you died.” He sighed heavily, grateful to have spoken the words aloud. He dropped a carnation seed into the hole and covered it with dirt. The weight on his chest began to feel a little lighter. Then, he dug his next hole. When it was deep enough, he leaned over and said, “I’m sorry, Mom. You were the strongest person I knew. I hope you can forgive me.” He dropped in a sunflower seed and covered the hole in dirt.

“Curtis.” A soft voice said next to him.

Curt turned his head, and his mother was kneeling in the dirt next to him. “Mom.” Curt said, his voice shaky as his eyes brimmed with tears. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know.” Mom Mega said softly. “You have planted that sadness, schmoo. It’s time to let it go.”

Curt put his head in his hands and cried softly while his mom patted his back. He leaned into the sensation, knowing it wasn’t real, but wanting desperately for it to be. Finally, when he had cried himself out, he picked up the final seed packet.

“Is that one for Owen?” Mom Mega asked.

“Yes.”

His mom smiled softly. “Curtis, it’s not healthy to mourn the living.”

“I’m burying the idea of us.” He said, sticking his spade in the ground. “I need to let it go.”

Mom Mega placed a hand softly on Curt’s, and Curt stopped digging. “If you plant it, it may never grow.”

“The winter shouldn’t be that bad this year. It might sprout.” Curt knew that wasn’t what she was talking about. If he buried the idea of a relationship with Owen, he may never be able to take that back. They would live on together in the veins of a rose bush, but separately in their own hearts.

“You deserve healthy plants.” She said softly.

“I deserve to be happy.” Curt said softly. “And to get that, I have to let him go.”

He leaned over the hole and whispered, “I’m sorry I loved you. I’m sorry I have to let you go.” He dropped in a rose seed and covered it with dirt. When he looked up again, Mom Mega was gone.

He poured water over the seeds and sat in silence. He closed his eyes and breathed in the wind on his face, savoring the feeling of cathartic tears on his cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to Happier by Bastille and Marshmello. After I wrote this chapter, the song came on, and I was like "this is it". Also, follow @coldairballoons on Tumblr. They made a cover art for this fic for me, and though Ao3 won't allow me to upload it to the fic, I did make it my cover photo on Tumblr. So yeah! If anyone else wants to draw fanart or even write other fanfic based on this story, you are absolutely allowed to! I'd be thrilled to see what you come up with :)


	12. Chapter 12

Owen woke to sunlight streaming in through the curtains and falling on his face. He grumbled and turned over, refusing to get out of bed. Today was his turn to pout in his room all day. Curt had refused to come downstairs all of yesterday, and Owen had to occupy his time with sorting the clothes, books, and food he’d found, as well as cleaning the glass out of the master shower so that he could use it. During the chores, his mind had circled round and round the drain of the predicament with Curt, until he had passed out from emotional and physical exhaustion late in the evening.

Now, Owen woke up depressed.

He was staring down the barrel of another day by himself. Another day feeling guilty. Another day of loneliness.

Owen could feel the edges of his mind fuzzing over. He’d struggled with depression and anxiety in high school and college, but it had been years since he’d had a major depressive episode. His panic attack on the road a few days ago certainly hadn’t helped, and now he worried that it would only get worse. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

_“Owen?” There was a soft knock on his bedroom door. “Mom says dinner is ready.” It was Emily, home from college on spring break._

_“Not hungry.” Owen managed to say, pulling the blankets up over his head._

_Emily opened the door and stuck her head inside. “Mom also says that you haven’t been downstairs since yesterday morning.”_

_“Please leave me alone.” His response was muffled under the blankets._

_Emily sat down on the bed and laid a hand carefully on him. “What’s wrong, Owen?”_

_Owen was silent for a while, then he began to cry. “I don’t know.”_

_He allowed Emily to take the covers off of him and pull him into a hug. “Shhh.. shh… It’s OK, baby brother.” She said, stroking his back gently as he sobbed into her shirt. “It’s OK.”_

_“I’m sad a lot more lately and I don’t know why.”_

_“Have you been taking your meds?” She reached for the bottle of antidepressants on the bedside table and peered inside. The prescription was almost empty._

_“Yes, but they’re not doing anything!” Owen was frustrated now. “I take them every day and I’m still just sad and angry all of the time! The doctor said it would take time to kick in, but I’ve been on them a month now!”_

_Emily put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You need different meds, then.” She said gently. “Finding the right one is going to be a process, but you’ll get there. I’ll have Mom call the doctor tomorrow, and you can get a new prescription.”_

_“Thank you.” Owen said, relieved that someone was helping him._

_“Until then, you need to eat.” Emily stood up and reached out her hand. “You just have to take everything one hour at a time. Make it through one hour. Then another. And another. Before you know it, you won’t be sad all of the time.”_

“You only have to make it through the next hour.” A soft voice said.

Owen opened his eyes to see Emily sitting in an armchair in the corner of the room. She was exactly how he’d last seen her: bright sundress, pregnant stomach, and an air of authority about her that Owen only wishes he could exude.

Owen closed his eyes and shut her out. “Why are you haunting me, Emily?”

“I wouldn’t call it haunting, baby brother.” She said. “Merely visiting.”

“Why?” Owen still wouldn’t open his eyes.

“Because you’re sad. And you need me.”

“Of course I’m sad,” Owen snapped his eyes open and sat up on the edge of the bed. “I’m alone at the end of the world, Emily. Any sane person would be sad about that!”

Emily seemed unperturbed by the outburst. “You’re not alone.”

“Look around!” Owen was shouting now. “There’s no one left!” He put up a hand to stop Emily from speaking. “And don’t say that I have Curt. He won’t even look at me, and that’s the worst part. I’m alone with a man that hates me.”

Emily smiled softly and shook her head. “Come with me.” She stood from the chair and walked to the window. When Owen didn’t follow, she gestured to the curtain and said, “Look outside.”

Slowly, Owen stood and went to the window. He pulled the curtain aside and looked down into the backyard. Owen could see Curt, kneeling in the grass of the backyard. Even from a distance, he could tell the other man was crying.

“You are both in pain.” Emily reminded him gently. “You have both lost so much and are both haunted by ghosts. Ghosts of your pasts and of the people you’ve lost. Curt needs time. He may never return your affections, but in time, you will make space for them. They won’t hurt you as much, and Curt will forget about them. And it will be easier to live alongside each other.”

Owen watched as Curt stopped crying and began to dig a hole. He was talking to himself as he dug. “I just wish I hadn’t kissed him.” Owen whispered.

“We can’t live in wishes.” Emily said softly.

When Owen turned his head to respond, Emily was gone. He sat down on the bed and cried.

\----

After a quick shower to clear his head, Owen decided Emily was right. He had to give Curt time and space to sort out his emotions, and he only needed to take everything one hour at a time. So for this hour, he would make food.

Excited at the prospect of making food on the stove or in the oven, instead of eating out of a can, Owen bounded down the stairs. He came to a halt, though, when he saw Curt sitting at the island in the kitchen.

Curt had dirt on his hands and face, and he looked deep in thought as he ate a Pop Tart. Owen approached the kitchen cautiously. “Hi.” He said, standing awkwardly in the doorway.

Curt looked up from his food and saw Owen in the doorway. “Hey.” He gave a small smile, and Owen visibly relaxed. “Did you know we have running water?”

“Uh, yeah. I found out yesterday. I hadn’t gotten a chance to tell you, but the house is solar powered. We have electricity, too.” He flipped on the light switch in the kitchen and the lights blinked on.

“That’ll make the winter easier.” Curt remarked, shoving the rest of his Pop Tart in his mouth.

It was silent for a while in the kitchen, the air thick with tension and hesitancy. Then, they both start talking at the same time.

“I wanted—” “Did you—”

“Sorry.” Owen said. “You first.”

Curt took a sip of his water. “I’m sorry. About yesterday, you know? I was in a bad mood and I think I took it out on you. Plus, you had to organize everything yourself, and I feel like I should’ve helped with that.”

Owen was stunned. “Uh, thanks. I appreciate the apology. There wasn’t a lot to organize, so it wasn’t too bad.” He shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to do next.

“Can we be friends again?” Curt asked.

Owen smiled. “Yeah. We can be friends again.”

Curt beamed back. “Good. Cause I found a deck of UNO cards in the basement, and I’m about to kick your ass.” He threw the foil wrapper at Owen and jumped down from his barstool.

“I’ll make lunch first. You can’t live off Pop Tarts.”

“Watch me.” Curt said.

Owen rolled his eyes. “You’ve got dirt all over you. Go wash up and I’ll make food. Then, you can have your ass handed to you in UNO.”

Curt smiled, and reached out a hand for Owen to shake. Owen hesitated, then took his hand and shook it. “Thank you,” Curt said, “For forgiving me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter because I needed to wrap up the parallel scene from Ch 11. The next chapter is a major plot point (one I've been waiting for since making the outline!), so it'll take some time to get it posted. We're on the home stretch! Only two major plot points left!


	13. Chapter 13

When Curt woke up, he felt better; lighter, even. He had apologized to Owen four nights ago, and they’d found an easy rhythm ever since. Every night, they’d made a hearty dinner with the ingredients in the kitchen, eaten their fill, and settled in to play cards. They were evenly matched, considering neither was playing to win, but rather to pass the time. Curt had won a few rounds, and Owen had won even more, and at one point, they’d found themselves laughing and teasing each other in a good-natured manner.

They were friends again. And for that, Curt was grateful.

He was also grateful for the running water in the house. As he stepped under the stream of the shower in the guest bathroom, he said a silent thank you for the ability to do so. There was a banging on the bathroom door. “Don’t take forever, I want some hot water.” Owen yelled through the door. Curt’s showers lately had bordered on insanely long, and most of the time, it meant that Owen was taking very short, very cold showers.

“You’ll get what you get!” Curt yelled back, and he could practically hear Owen flipping him off through the door.

He decided to be nice, though, and save the other man some hot water, so he cut his shower down to the bare essentials and skipped the part where he stood under the stream and got lost in thought for fifteen minutes. Normal shower stuff only.

When Curt turned the water off and stepped out of the shower, he had managed to only take up ten minutes. He wiped the steam off the mirror and examined himself. His face was scruffy, and he could really use a shave. He was also a lot leaner, and he could tell that he hadn’t been eating as much as he had pre-apocalypse. Owen was in no better shape; Curt had noticed lately that the already slender man’s cheekbones had become more prominent and his t-shirts hung a little looser. His beard had grown in a little faster than Curt’s, so the weight loss wasn’t extremely noticeable, but Curt had seen it nonetheless.

Curt inspected his own physique in the mirror again. “Curtis, you’re so thin.” He said to himself, imitating his mother’s voice. “You need a wife to feed you up right.” He started laughing. He missed his mother, but he didn’t miss her assumptions that he would someday get a wife.

Shaking his head and laughing to himself, he wrapped a towel around his waist and went back into his bedroom to get changed. Once he had clean clothes on, he practically jumped down the stairs and into the kitchen, where he could smell bacon.

“Oh hell yes.” Curt said, as he plucked a strip of bacon up from the plate next to the stove and jumped up to sit on the counter. “I love bacon. Where’d you find this?” He started munching on the bacon.

“There’s a freezer in the garage filled with bacon, toaster waffles, and frozen ravioli.” Owen said.

“That’s a weird combination.”

Owen shrugged. “We’re running low on food here in the house, so we’ll need to do a food run today. I don’t want to take anything out of the emergency packs unless it’s, you know, an emergency.”

Curt finished eating his bacon strip and reached for another. “Grocery shopping it is.”

\----

The grocery store was a few miles away in the center of the town. Curt and Owen had found a car in a neighboring garage that still had over a tank of gas, and they’d loaded up the trunk with duffel bags to fill with rations and had loaded their guns to capacity.

“Here.” Owen had said, handing Curt an emergency pack to carry with him.

“Why do I need this?” Curt asked.

“It’s in case we get stranded somewhere before we can get back to the house. There’s enough in there to last us a day while we make it back here.” Owen said.

“You’re… incredibly resourceful.” Curt remarked.

Owen nodded. “You always gotta stay—”

“One step ahead.” Curt said, waving a hand dismissively at Owen. “I get it.”

“Let’s get going.”

It didn’t take them long to find the store. It was a local Mom-and-Pop shop about the size of a small restaurant. But on looking inside the front windows, Curt and Owen could tell it would have a lot of necessary supplies.

Owen used his crowbar to ply the door open, but he held up a hand before Curt could go inside. “Hang on.” He said. Then, he banged his crowbar loudly on the metal frame of the door and waited.

“What are—”

Owen held up a hand again and continued to wait. Then, slowly, three Infected came shambling out of the aisles and towards the noise. “Quickest way to draw them out.” He said, pulling his gun.

Curt drew his weapon, too, and they made quick work of the Infected who had limped up to the front of the store. Curt unzipped his duffel bag and started walking towards one of the aisles. “What do you think: should we aim for more cans, or more boxes?”

Owen scanned the signs above the aisles until he saw the one he wanted. “Both. I doubt we’ll be able to find any meat that hasn’t gone bad. Owen gestured to the frozen aisle that was suspiciously dark. “So we’re going to need non-perishable staples more than anything. Box meals, canned goods, lots of rice, beans, and pasta.”

“Gourmet.” Curt muttered.

“Hey, food is food.” Owen said, entering an aisle and beginning to load bags of rice and beans into his duffle bag.

“We should probably grab some hygiene stuff.” Curt remarked, seeing the soap aisle. “I’m not pointing fingers, but one of us could use a shave.”

“I agree, Mega, your beard is awful.” Owen called from across the store, and Curt laughed. He threw a few bottles of hand and body soap, deodorant, and shaving cream and razors into the bag, then went looking for canned vegetables.

“You want dinosaur or SpongeBob mac and cheese?” Owen called out.

“Dinosaurs. Why is that a question?”

Owen tossed a few boxes into the bag. Soon, both men had filled their own duffels and had begun filling reusable bags they found at the register. Owen also found blankets that he tossed into the car, and space heater and generator in case they needed them for the winter. Curt had just finished filling a bag with canned fruit and canned tuna when he found Owen in the pet food aisle.

“Why do we need cat food?” Curt asked, watching Owen toss a few small cans on the top of his bag.

“I saw a cat wandering the neighborhood a couple days in a row now. I want to try and coax it inside.”

Curt rolled his eyes but smiled anyway. “OK, well, I think we’ve pretty well raided the store. We should be set for a while on what we have.”

“Agreed.” Owen said, picking up the bag he’d just finished filling. “It’ll give us a cushion while we scout the town for new places, too.”

They wandered back up to the front of the store, when something caught Owen’s eye. “Here.” Owen gave Curt his reusable bag. “Can you put this in the car with the others? There’s one more thing I want to grab.”

Curt took the bag from him. “Make it quick. It looks like it could storm again tonight.” Curt turned to drag the bags outside to the car.

Owen walked across the store to a counter with a big sign that read “Liquor”. There was a shipping box next to the counter and Owen peered inside. “Score!” He mumbled, stuffing boxes of cigarettes in his jacket and back jeans pockets. They were menthols, but they would do.

He looked up and scanned the shelves behind the counter until he spotted what he was looking for; bottles of Jack Daniels lined a shelf way above his head. Owen climbed up onto the liquor counter and stretched one foot over to steady it on a shelf as he reached up to grab the biggest bottle.

Just as his fingers closed around it, a hand gripped his thigh and clamped on tight. Owen looked down to see an Infected trapped under the counter. Its shirt was caught on the underside of the counter, so it hadn’t shown itself when they first entered the store. But now, Owen had put himself directly in its reach. “Fuck.” Owen said, balancing on the counter with a hand on a shelf, trying to kick the Infected off him. His efforts only made the Infected double-down, and it gripped Owen’s pant leg and pulled.

It was stronger than it looked, and Owen fell. He crashed down behind the liquor counter, landing hard on his back and barely missing a shelf corner with his head. The bottle of Jack he’d been holding tumbled out of his hand and skittered across the floor. It hadn’t broken, but the several other bottles that had fallen smashed near the Infected. Not near enough to kill it, though.

“Fuck!” Owen reiterated, trying to scramble backwards, but finding a wall behind him and nowhere to go.

Just then, Curt launched himself over the countertop and, without missing a beat, fired a single shot in the head of the Infected. He’d been watching the whole thing from the front of the store, and as soon as Owen had fallen, he had sprinted to the rescue. Now, he was seething.

Owen wasn’t paying attention to Curt, though, as he popped up from the floor, dusting his jacket off and picking up the bottle of Jack. “Thanks.” He said, holding up the bottle. “I got booze.”

Curt reached forward and shoved Owen. Hard. Owen hit the shelves behind him, bottles rattling and his glass-injury shoulder banging into an edge. “What the fuck?” Owen asked.

Curt got into his face. “Quit FUCKING AROUND!” He yelled, fire in his eyes. Then, he pivoted and jumped back over the counter. “Get in the goddamn car. We’re leaving.”

\-----

They rode in silence through Chesterfield and back towards the house, Curt driving and Owen in the passenger seat. Curt was fuming, and Owen was equally as annoyed, rubbing his shoulder and ignoring the dull ache in his back from falling. He still had a grip on the bottle of Jack Daniels, and he wasn’t letting it go anytime soon.

When they got back to the house, Owen stalked off to the kitchen to find a glass, and Curt slammed the front door behind them before following Owen into the kitchen.

“Where are the goddamn tumblers in this house?” Owen said to himself as he yanked cabinets open.

“Maybe if you jump off the roof, you’ll find them.” Curt sneered, pulling the fridge door open and violently yanking a water bottle out from inside.

Owen sighed heavily and snapped a cabinet shut. “Oh, big fucking surprise, Curt Mega is upset.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what you think it does, idiot.” Owen was close to snapping. “I’m done being the target of your mood swings.” He opened another cabinet.

“Mood swings?” Curt scoffed.

“Yes, Curt, your mood swings.” Owen turned to face him. “One little thing doesn’t go the way you want or expect, and you take it out on me. You have the emotional maturity of a teenager, and I’m just done fucking dealing with it!” He gave up on finding a glass and twisted the top off the bottle of Jack. He took a long pull from the bottle and winced as it burned its way down his throat.

“Oh, and you’re any better?” Curt gestured to the bottle. “You’re upset, so you’re just going to drink it away?”

Owen’s eyes flashed. “Yeah, if it means I don’t have to listen to you bitch and moan all night, I’m going to drink until I pass out.” He walked out of the kitchen and into the living room, purposefully knocking into Curt as he passed.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” Curt said, following him into the living room.

Owen spun around and threw his arms up in frustration, alcohol sloshing out of the bottle and onto the floor around him. “What do you WANT from me, Curt?! I don’t even understand why you’re mad this time!”

“Why do you THINK I’m mad?!” Curt yelled back. “You almost DIED back there at the store, you fucking asshole. You risked your LIFE for a bottle of booze. What if you had gotten seriously hurt, huh?! What if you had DIED?””

Owen raised his voice even louder. “Why do you even care?!”

“Because I can’t lose you!!” Curt shouted, and it was suddenly silent in the house as Curt’s confession settled like dust around them. Then, Curt whispered, “I can’t lose you, Owen.”

Owen closed the gap between them, setting the bottle of Jack down as he moved. He stood directly in front of Curt but didn’t move to touch him. He hesitated a moment, waiting to see if Curt would push him away. “Curt,” Owen said quietly. “If I kiss you right now, are you going to run away again?”

Curt didn’t answer. Instead, he put a hand on the back of Owen’s neck and pulled him closer.

When their lips met, it was needier than the first time. Curt crashed into Owen and didn’t hold back this time; he allowed himself to take everything he had wanted since the first time he’d met Owen, and Owen responded in kind. Curt tangled his hands in Owen’s hair, and melted into him. Owen wrapped his arm’s around Curt and held on tight.

They moved as one pen stroke, inking their importance into the life of the other. They slotted together as wayward souls searching for a home and finding it in the other’s arms.

Finally, breathless, Curt broke away again and Owen gripped him tighter to keep him from leaving; their eyes dark and lips swollen.

“Why now?” Owen asked. “Why not five days ago?”

Curt shook his head. “If I ever lose you, it will hurt, regardless of if we’re just friends or something more. I’d rather choke on my bad decisions than just carry them to my grave.”

Owen smirked. “Am I a bad decision?”

“Only if you leave me.”

Owen brushed his lips against Curt’s. “Never.” Then he kissed him again.

“Upstairs?” Curt asked, pushing Owen slightly towards the stairs, and Owen obliged, grabbing Curt’s hand and pulling him up the stairs and towards the master bedroom.

They crashed through the door, Owen tugging at Curt’s shirt as he kissed him. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for such a long time.” Owen growled.

“And wouldn’t you know it, you’re finally mine.” Curt said back.

Curt’s knees connected with the edge of the bed, and he sat down. Owen pulled his shirt off and paused, letting Curt run his hands over his chest and stomach. Curt only bothered to admire him for a moment before he grabbed onto the waistband and buttons of Owen’s jeans and yanked him forward. Owen landed on top of Curt on the bed and ground his hips into the shorter man’s as he kissed him again, heat building between them.

“I need you.” Curt said, gasping. He could feel Owen’s erection through his jeans.

“You need me to what?” Owen said, rolling his hips back into Curt’s, and Curt could feel him smirking against his neck.

“I need you to fuck me.” Curt admitted, fumbling with the buttons on Owen’s jeans but getting nowhere.

“As you wish.” Owen said, then bit down on Curt’s neck.

\-----

It rained again that night, and Curt lit the fireplace in their bedroom, laying his head against Owen’s chest as he listened to the rain drum on the windows.

Their first time has been clumsy and rough; both were covered in love bites and bruises and Curt’s head hurt from where Owen had accidentally and enthusiastically thrust him into the headboard.

Now, in the afterglow, the whole thing was nearly laughable.

“Were we really that out of practice?” Owen asked, rubbing the spot on Curt’s head where he’d connected with the headboard.

“I prefer the phrase ‘over-excited’.” Curt laughed. “Sorry I scratched you.” He said, running a hand down the scratches on his back.

“It’s fine. Sorry I bruised you.” Owen lightly poked the finger-shaped bruises on Curt’s hips.

Curt shrugged. “We can always try again tomorrow. And as many times as it takes to get it right.” He smiled up at Owen.

“Deal.” Owen kissed his forehead.

“I love you.” Curt whispered, then froze, worried it was too soon for that.

Owen paused, then whispered back, “I love you, too.”

As the storm raged outside, the two spies fell asleep, wholly entangled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stayed up VERY late on the eve of a 12 hour shift at work in order to write this for y'all, so I hope you like it! Please leave a comment; I love reading even the incoherent ones, and I send screenshots of all of them to my sister because I love each comment so, so much :)


	14. Chapter 14

Sunlight came streaming in through the curtains in the master bedroom, and Curt rolled over in an attempt to block it out. He pressed his face into Owen’s ribcage and breathed in the scent of his skin. Owen was still snoring lightly, and Curt mused that it had been a good thing Owen had been awake for the end of the world. Otherwise, he may have slept through it.

Curt nestled in deeper next to Owen. They had been officially together for over a month now, and an easy comfortability was setting in. Curt was learning to sleep through Owen’s snoring, and Owen was learning how to make space for Curt’s compulsive pacing. Curt learned quickly that sucking his teeth annoyed Owen, and Owen stopped clicking his pen while he worked on his sudoku puzzles.

They experimented with each other; freely exploring soft touches, routines, nicknames, and sexual experiences until they found a comfortable rhythm in which they lived their life. Together.

Now, as Curt lay in bed and ignored the sunshine, he smiled at the thought of this being his forever.

“What are you smiling at, love?” Owen asked. Curt had been so lost in thought, he hadn’t even realized that Owen had stopped snoring.

“Nothing, really.” Curt said, propping himself up on one elbow so that he was hovering slightly above Owen. “Just that, if I’m going to be stuck in an apocalypse, then I’m glad it’s with you.”

Owen smiled now, too. “Fuckin’ cheesy.” He muttered and pulled Curt in for a kiss.

Curt laid a hand on Owen’s hip and kissed him back, deepening the kiss in the hopes that he might get lucky. Instead, they were interrupted by a mewling shriek from the front porch.

“I need to get up and feed Kate.” Owen said, pulling away from Curt and removing the other man’s wandering hands from his waistband.

“Do you have to?” Curt asked, kissing him again and trying to persuade him silently to stay in bed.

Another loud protest from the porch caused Owen to pull away again. “I think that’s a yes.” He slipped out from under the covers and stood up, looking around the room for his shirt. Finally, he pulled on a t-shirt and, still barefoot and in his pajama pants, went downstairs to feed the cat.

Curt sighed and flopped over on his back. Maybe if he ignored his horniness, it would just go away.

Doubtful.

He sighed and sat up. He’d just have to distract Owen later today. They hadn’t fooled around on the dining room table yet; that could be fun. “Curt, we _eat_ there.” Curt said, mocking Owen slightly with his voice, then laughed to himself. He found a sweater in the closet and pulled it over his head before going downstairs to the kitchen. They had gone “shopping” a week prior in search of new clothes, the trying-on process going much quicker when you don’t have to worry about other people in the store; they merely walked from rack to rack, trying things on and taking them off, until they had a reasonable amount of clothes each. Curt had also found a fancy coffee machine at the store, which he’d very readily taken and was now loading up with a vanilla blend.

As the coffee brewed, Curt pulled mugs down from the cabinets. He emptied two sugar packets and a spoonful of powdered creamer into his mug and left Owen’s mug empty; he liked it black and Curt couldn’t understand why. When the coffee finished brewing, he filled the mugs and carried them outside.

Owen sat on the porch, a large, grey Maine Coon on his lap. Kate was purring slightly as she polished off a can of Friskies’s pate. “Thanks, love.” Owen said, taking his mug from Curt.

“Why don’t you just bring Kate inside?” Curt asked, sitting down on the porch next to him and scratching the cat behind her ears.

“I’ve tried, but she prefers to roam the streets all day.” Owen shrugged. “She’s a free woman; you can’t tie her down.”

“I’ll drink to that, sister.” Curt said, tipping his mug in the direction of the cat and Owen laughed.

The sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping their coffee and listening to the wind rustling through the few remaining leaves on the trees. Fall was in full swing, and it was trying to prove that it would not go out gently. It had rained almost every day in the last week, and if it continued raining like it was, the two men knew they would be in for a harsh and snowy winter. Owen was already making a list of supplies they would need to stock up on.

“What should we do today?” Curt asked, taking a final sip and setting his mug on the porch.

Owen thought for a minute. “We could watch another movie?” They had found a massive movie collection in a neighboring house, and they were slowly making their way through it.

Curt shrugged. He looked up at the sky and said, “It looks like it might be a pretty nice day for once. We should do something outside. Oh!” He clapped his hands together. “We could take a walk. We could take a _power_ walk. There was a lesbian couple in my apartment complex that used to powerwalk every day and I’d see them on the sidewalk. They always looked like they were having fun.”

Owen arched an eyebrow. “You want to powerwalk? What are you, Curt, a suburban soccer mom?”

Curt rolled his eyes. “I’m just saying, they looked like they were having fun.”

“Well, _you_ can take a powerwalk. If I’m going to exercise, I’m going to run like a normal person.” Owen polished off his coffee and set his mug down, too.

“Well, smartass, if you don’t want to take a walk, what _do_ you want to do?”

Owen thought for a minute, then his face lit up with an idea. “Hammock.”

\-----

There were only a few trees in the backyard, so it took Owen quite a while to string the hammock up and tie it sturdy enough to hold two full grown men. Eventually, he got it rigged between two strong branches. The trees were lucky enough that they hadn’t dropped a lot of their leaves yet, and Owen managed to position the hammock so that spots of sunlight filtered through the leaves to warm them.

Curt came tromping out of the house, the comforter from the guest bedroom wrapped around his shoulders, a water bottle in one hand and a few granola bars in the other, and Owen’s book tucked under his arm. He dropped the load in a heap on the ground. “There, I helped.” He said, pointing to the mess on the ground.

Owen laughed. “You did nothing.”

Curt stretched and looked at Owen’s handiwork. Relaxing in the hammock was a great idea, but Curt still had a lot of restless energy from being cooped up in the house the past week.. So, in a moment’s decision, he grabbed onto the lowest branch of the tree and began to climb.

“Curt?” Owen said, moving to stand at the base of the tree while Curt climbed higher and higher. “Curt what are you doing?”

Curt stopped when he reached the top. Peaking out above the leaves, he could see a good chunk of the neighborhood stretching out around him. He watched a few Infected several streets over as they munched on a deer carcass, and in the direction of town, he could see a few more swaying slightly in the wind. Since that horde had moved past them on their way into Chesterfield, Curt and Owen had theorized that most of the Infected had cleared out to move with the horde. They had the whole town to themselves. The whole world to themselves.

Curt made the shape of a gun with his fingers, aiming it at one of the Infected on the road near town, just a small, grey silhouette from his vantage point.

“Curt!” Owen called again. “What are you doing?”

“Saving the world.” Curt called back down with a laugh, firing his finger gun at both Infected.

“Yeah, well, while you’re saving the world, who do you think will be saving you when you fall out of this tree, dumbass?”

Curt started laughing, then began to slowly swing and climb his way back down the tree. When he landed back on the ground, Owen looked more relieved than he did annoyed. “Just get in the hammock, please.” A soft smile played at his lips.

Two grown men in a hammock is hard to fit, as Curt and Owen learned that night in the forest. Being safe in a backyard didn’t change that. It took a lot shifting and elbows in rib cages and knees in groins and stomachs until they finally got comfortable; Owen laying on his back and Curt lying on top of him, his head resting on Owen’s chest. They managed to drape the blanket over them to fight the chill of fall, but Curt forgot the food on the ground.

“Don’t get hungry or thirsty.” Curt commented, finally settling in. “Cause I ain’t moving for a while.”

Owen laughed. “Deal.”

Owen was halfway through the last Harry Potter novel, and he rested the novel on Curt’s back and began to read. Meanwhile, Curt closed his eyes and enjoyed the fresh air and listened to the quiet sounds of fall.

They were silent for a minute, until Curt said, “What do you miss most about being a spy?”

“Did you get fired?” Owen said, smirking. “Because as far as I’m concerned, I’m still a spy.”

Curt rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.” He dug a finger playfully into Owen’s ribcage and Owen squirmed.

“Um, I guess I miss the gadgets the most.” Owen shrugged. “We had this cool cell phone that, when you pressed the ‘end’ button, it—”

“Let me guess, it was actually a gun?”

“What?” Owen looked baffled. “No? It would release noxious gas. Why would you need a cell phone that was a gun?”

Curt shrugged. “Everything at the American Secret Service was secretly a gun.”

Owen paused for a minute. “You know what, that makes a lot of sense.”

“What, that everything should secretly be a gun in case of emergencies?”

“No, that _American_ scientists found a way to make everything secretly a gun.”

Curt began to laugh, and Owen joined in. They giggled together until a comfortable silence stretched over them. Curt focused on the rise and fall of Owen’s chest, and soon, he drifted off to sleep. Owen listened to Curt’s breathing even out and smiled once he realized Curt was asleep. He was happy for the peace and quiet so that he could finish his book.

Despite his best efforts, and before long, though, Owen began to snore as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These next few chapters are going to fluffy and not important to the plot because you deserve some fluff for hanging in with me so long! I may toss in a smut chapter, but I'm undecided on that... THIS chapter was almost smutty, but it got kinky and bailed... Sorry.
> 
> I'm going to post 2 to 3 more fluff chapters before diving back into the action and posting the final chapter. The final chapter will go live on Friday, June 14th, 2019 at 4PM CST. Hopefully you can all join in and read the finale all at once! :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! In the previous chapter, I mentioned that the finale would go live next Friday. Well, a lot changed in the last 24 hours, and the finale will now be up much sooner than that! I'm excited to close out Owen and Curt's story, and I hope you enjoy the last few chapters.
> 
> Also, this chapter is a smut chapter. It serves no purpose in the real plot, so if you need to or want to skip it, I understand.

The warm days were short lived. After Curt and Owen’s lazy day in the hammock, they had two more days of sunshine before the rain started again.

Curt was glaring out of the bedroom window, watching as his plans to take a walk dissolved in a sheet of rain and bluster of wind. “Why does it have to rain all the time!” Curt huffed, frustrated that he was going to be stuck inside all day again.

Owen was still laying in bed, lazily flipping through a collection of Hemingway short stories. “It’s going to be a rough winter. I can tell.” He looked over the spine of his book at Curt. “Why don’t you just come back to bed? We can make a lazy day out of it.” He patted the bed next to him and Curt muttered darkly as he crawled back into bed. Owen rolled his eyes. “Why are you grumpy?”

Curt sighed and flopped onto his back. “I’m bored! I wanted to take another walk. I have nothing to do all day now that world’s ended.”

“You could read a book?” Owen suggested. Curt glared at him. “I’m just saying, there’s dozens of ways to entertain yourself.”

Curt sighed, clearly not wanting suggestions but rather an excuse to complain. Owen shut his book and set it on the nightstand. “You know, I bet I can kill a few minutes for you.” There was a glint in his eye that intrigued Curt.

“Oh? How so?”

Owen flipped over to straddle Curt’s hips. He pinned his arms next to his head, then leaned down and kissed Curt deeply, grinding their hips together. “Like this.” He said, then kissed his neck. “Or like this.” He bit down on Curt’s collarbone. “Or like this.”

Curt was squirming under Owen’s touch. “Please.” He whispered.

“You know I love it when you beg.” Owen purred in Curt’s ear. He stood up from the bed, Curt whimpering slightly as Owen left. “Stay put.” Owen ordered.

Curt didn’t move as Owen disappeared into the closet. “Love, hurry up!” Curt called behind him, palming himself through his boxers. “I’ll do this without you if I have to!”

Owen stepped back out of the closet. He pointed a stern finger at his lover and barked, “Hands off!” Curt shot his hands up in defense, doing as he was told. “Good boy.” Owen said, unrolling the two silk ties he held in his hands. “Put your wrists near the bedposts.” Owen said, climbing back onto the bed. Once Curt was in position, Owen made fast work of securing Curt’s arms to the bed.

“Kinky.” Curt quipped.

“Quiet.” Owen said. He had a calm, commanding demeanor that was equal parts terrifying and arousing. Curt was rock hard.

Owen began to kiss an agonizingly slow trail down from Curt’s jaw to his chest, pausing to tease his nipples and lightly bite his chest. Curt was gasping and straining against his bonds, desperately trying to get friction.

“What are you going to do to me?” He asked, his eyes dark.

“I’m gonna torture the living shite out of you.” Owen said, running a finger very lightly above the waistband of Curt’s boxers. “And just for my enjoyment, you will suffer.” He slowly pulled Curt’s boxers off. “Suffer.” He ghosted a hand up Curt’s shaft. “Suffer. Until you cum.” He pulled his hands away quickly and stood up from the bed again.

“Fuck!” Curt yelled, bucking his hips at the air. “Owen, quit screwing around and just fuck me already.”

“Oh Curt, you don’t get to make the demands in this situation.” Owen stepped out of his boxers, his cock springing up against his stomach. He gave it a few slow strokes, savoring the feeling and the look of longing on Curt’s face. Then, he crawled back onto the bed, hovering over Curt. “And just for that, you’re not allowed to cum before I say so. And if you do, I’ll punish you.”

Curt desperately wanted to be punished. But he never backed down from a challenge. “Do your worst.”

“I intend to.”

Owen kissed him again, forcing his tongue into Curt’s mouth and biting his bottom lip. He tangled a hand into Curt’s hair and suddenly yanked his head sideways. “Safe word is bananas.” He whispered, then latched onto the pulse point on Curt’s neck. In their month of sleeping together, Owen had quickly learned all of Curt’s “spots”, and this was a major one. Owen ministered to the spot until a large purple bruise began to form. “You’re mine.” He growled, planting another bruising kiss on Curt’s lips.

“Yes.” Curt whispered. He was dizzy with arousal, and he knew that only one touch would be enough to make him cum. But he held on; Owen wouldn’t be pleased if he came now.

Owen grabbed the near-empty bottle of lube from the bedside table and upended it into his hand. He slowly rubbed it up and down his shaft, then he slid one finger inside Curt.

Curt tensed in anticipation, pulling on his restraints and gritting his teeth. Being prepped was always the hard part. He felt Owen lay a hand softly on his knee and he opened his eyes. Owen had broken character for a moment and he had a soft smile on his face. “Relax, love. I’ve got you.”

Curt relaxed, and Owen finished prepping him with ease. Owen then positioned himself at Curt’s entrance, teasing him once again. “Whose are you?” He asked.

“Yours!” Curt yelled out as Owen entered him.

Owen set a viscous pace, grabbing Curt’s hips and thrusting in and out fast enough to make Curt’s head spin. It took all of his willpower not to come as Owen fucked him closer and closer to bliss. Finally, Curt gasped out, “Owen, please!”

“Beg me.” Owen said, never breaking pace. He was panting now, and had a hand on the headboard to steady himself. “Beg me, and I’ll consider it.”

Curt moaned, putting on a show for his lover. “Please, Owen, you have to let me cum. I’m not going to make it.” He bucked his hips into Owen and moaned again. “Just let me cum. Please! I’m begging you!” He strained against the ties and arched his back, sweat gleaming on his chest.

“Fuck!” Owen muttered. He was close, too. Finally, he said, “Cum for me, Curt.” He thrust once more, and the two men came together.

——

It took them a while to calm down. Owen had untied Curt immediately, kissing his wrists where red marks had started to bloom. Curt was still dizzy and sore all over, so though he desperately needed a shower, he refused to move. Owen used Curt’s boxers to clean them both up, before laying down and pulling Curt close to spoon against his chest.

“Are you still bored?” Owen asked playfully.

“No, but I could be in another hour.” Curt smiled. “That was… just wow. I didn’t know you were into bondage. I didn’t know  _ I  _ was into bondage.”

Owen laughed. “I didn’t either, so we both learned something new today.”

Curt reached up and felt the bruise on his neck, an excited thrill running through his veins at the idea of being marked by Owen. Owen watched him touch the bruise and winced at how large it was. “Sorry about that, love. Got a bit carried away.” A blush creeped over his neck and face.

Curt put a hand on his face. “Don’t apologize.” He smiled slyly. “It was sexy.”

“Thanks.” Owen said, then he kissed Curt again. “You drive me crazy.” He whispered.

“Same.” Curt wound his hands into Owen’s hair. “I love you. More than I can express.”

“I love you, too.”

They lay like that for several minutes, listening to the rain and cuddling. Finally, when it felt like Owen had finally caught his breath again, Curt asked, “Ready to go again?”


	16. Finale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Readers,
> 
> I wanted to start this chapter with a short letter. First of all, I wanted to thank you all for reading this fic. OSA is the longest thing I’ve ever written, and it’s a culmination of 12 years of writing practice, 4 years of English Literature study at university, 1.5 months of writing, and several hours of planning and reviewing with my best friends. Through it, I learned how to foreshadow and how to be flexible with an outline. I learned not to be ashamed of or dismissive of the fics that I write. I also learned that I do have it in me to write a fully realized story; that if I don’t give up, I have the capacity to do something big.
> 
> But none of that would matter without you all. The response to this fic has been overwhelmingly amazing. When I came up with the idea, I didn’t think very many people would like it, but the outpouring of support and love from everyone has been amazing. And I appreciate and love you all so much.  
> We’re now at the end of this endeavor, and I hope that I have done it justice for you. OSA means a lot to me, and completing it has felt like a ceremony coming to a close. I hope that you feel similarly!
> 
> Please enjoy the finale.
> 
> Love and Zombies,  
> Liz M

Another week of rain was finally broken by a cloudless sky. Curt practically leapt out of bed to look outside when he saw the first rays of sunshine peeking through the curtains in their bedroom.

“Owen!” Curt said, jumping onto the bed and shaking his partner awake.

“Go the fuck away!” Owen said, grumpy from being woken up.

“It’s sunny outside! We should go out!”

Owen grunted in frustration and pushed Curt away. “You go out. I’m going to keep sleeping.”

Curt rolled his eyes. “I’m going on a run, then.” He said, getting out of bed and finding a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt to run in.

“Take your gun!” Owen called after him.

“Yeah, yeah.” Curt said, waving a dismissive hand and swiping the gun off of the nightstand. Outside, the sun was just starting to rise, and a chilly wind was blowing away the remaining fog. It was going to be a beautiful day.

Curt set off down the street, nodding at Kate as she slept on a neighboring porch that he jogged past. It was colder than he anticipated, late October making itself known as he jogged down the sidewalk and past several blocks of houses. By the time he’d gone a mile down the road, his joints were stiff, and he was breathing heavily. “I’m getting fucking old.” Curt said as he turned around and began jogging back in the direction of the house.

The day was warming up as the sun rose higher, and Curt began to speed up until the house came into view. He could see Owen sitting on the porch with Kate, the large cat purring and eating her breakfast while Owen drank his coffee. A second mug and a water bottle sat on the porch next to him. Curt slowed down to a walk as he approached the house, collapsing onto the lawn in exhaustion.

“Have a good run, love?” Owen called from the porch.

“Amazing.” Curt panted, checking his pulse. “I needed that.”

“We need to do a supply run today. Hopefully you didn’t tire yourself out.” Owen brought the drinks down to sit next to Curt on the lawn.

“No, but I’ll sleep forever tonight.” Curt sat up and accepted the water bottle, drinking deep before sipping his coffee. He was starting to cool down, and the coffee helped to keep the chill from seeping in. “Why do we need to do a supply run? I thought our food was good for another few weeks.”

“It is.” Owen said, polishing off the remainder of his coffee and setting it in the grass. “But we can’t wait for it to run out. We need to take advantage of the next few weeks before it starts snowing. We need to stock up on rations for the winter, plus blankets, firewood, medicine, anything we can think of in case we’re snowed in all winter. You have to remember that there’s no snowplows. If we get snowed in, we’re stuck until spring.”

Curt was silent for a moment. “Where are we going to get all of those supplies?”

“We’ll have to get back on the highway and search the surrounding towns.” Owen said, and Curt could tell he was mapping out their plan of attack. “We’ll stop at the gas station in town and fill a few containers. That way, we won’t get trapped like we did last time. And we’ll have to make several trips.” He said.

Curt yawned. “Sounds boring.”

“Pay attention, Mega.” Owen pushed him slightly. “I’m trying to keep us alive out here.”

\-----

They followed Owen’s plan, showering and eating a quick breakfast before gassing up and hitting the highway. Owen made sure to put one of the fully prepped emergency bags in the backseat, double-checking to make sure the extra weapons were safely inside. Owen adverted his eyes as they passed the red car, still sitting abandoned on the side of the road.

As he drove, Curt reached over a hand and took Owen’s in his. “Plan our wedding.” He said. It was a game they liked to play; planning events as if they would actually happen. It was a bittersweet way to pass the time. So far, they’d planned Curt’s birthday (a trip to Paris), their first anniversary (pastries from Curt’s favorite bakery), and their honeymoon (Caribbean cruise). But they’d never talked about a wedding.

Owen thought for a moment. “It’d definitely be a winter wedding. Navy and gold for the colors. You look better in white, so you’ll be in a white tux and I’ll be in navy.” Curt hummed in agreement. “Do you want a large party, or just a few close people?”

“I want a huge party. Everyone we know. And an open bar.” Owen rolled his eyes. “Let me guess,” Curt said. “You want a small affair?”

“Why must we make it a big deal?”

“Because we’re in love, stupid!” Curt said, and they both began to laugh.

“Plan your vows.” Owen said, getting more into the game.

Curt thought for a minute. “I’d talk about how much I love you. That we’re meant to be. Ya know. Because we’re both spies.” Owen laughed. “I’d talk about how you always say we should be one step ahead of every situation, and how I want to stay in step with you.”

Owen smiled. “I want to be one step ahead with you.”

“What a nerd.” Curt said, and laughed as Owen used his free hand to punch him in the shoulder. Then, he brought Owen’s hand up and kissed it softly on the knuckles as a sign for the next town came into view on their right.

\-----

It had rained the night before, and the dirt roads of the small town were muddy and thick. Curt maneuvered the car carefully through the streets in search of a grocery store or someplace that would have the supplies they would need. The town must have been built as an homage to early town planning, because the buildings were all tightly packed along a Main Street and looked as though a stiff wind could send them crumbling down.

“What about that store over there?” Curt asked, pointing at a sign marked “Finnegan’s General Store”.

“It could be a possibility.” Owen said. “We need a lot of--” The car lurched and stopped moving all together.

“Damn it!” Curt muttered. He’d looked away from the road for a second and the front tires had sunk deep into a mud hole. He pumped the gas a few times, listening to the tires spin behind him. “Damn it!” He said again, slamming his hands on the steering wheel. He missed the edge, though, and his left hand connected with the horn hard enough to send a long, loud blast out into the quiet town.

“Fuck, Curt, we have to be quiet!” Owen scolded.

“It was an accident!” Curt shot back. “We’re stuck. One of us is going to have to get out and push.” He said.

“It’s not going to be me.” Owen said.

Curt stared him down for a moment, then said, “Fine.” He un-clicked his seat belt and went to swing open his car door.

Then, they saw it.

Slowly coming around the corner of a building to their left was a group of Infected.

“Well shit.” Curt said, revving the engine and trying again to move the car.

“Forget it, Curt.” Owen said, grabbing the emergency pack out of the back seat. “We need to move.” He swung open his door and jumped down out of the car, raising his gun.

Curt grabbed his gun out of the cup holder and stepped out of the car as well. “How are we getting back?” He came around the back of the car where Owen was.

“We might not be going back.” Owen said, frowning at the thought of leaving Kate alone. “Let’s just get out of here first.” They moved quickly away from the car, but halted when more Infected began to emerge from around the buildings behind the car. “Shit.” Owen said.

They turned around and saw the horde in front of the car closing in. “We need to get into a building.”

They ran to the building closest to them; a pharmacy with a green cross on the sign. Owen pulled on the door and, to his dismay, it was locked. “I don’t think many people were in this town a lot.” Owen said, pointing to the ‘hours’ sign that had very few listed. “I don’t know if we can find an open building.”

“There!” Curt suddenly pointed, grabbing Owen’s arm. He pointed to a building halfway up the street on their right, it’s door ajar. The sign above it said, “Wet Whistle Bar”.

“Let’s go.” Owen said, drawing his gun. They’d have to run past the horde at the front of the car, and hopefully there would be a back door they could get out through.

Curt followed Owen’s lead as they sprinted up the street. His shoes and the cuffs of his jeans were caked with mud and he had to concentrate to keep his feet from sticking in the mud.

They neared the front of the car and began to skirt into the narrow space between the horde and the buildings.

Owen was close to reaching the door to the bar, and Curt could taste victory. Then, an Infected managed to get a hold on his jacket, and he stumbled. Curt hit the ground hard and let out a yell as several Infected fell on top of him. He began kicking and pushing and firing his gun, killing several and moving a few off of him. But the horde continued to pile on.

Owen heard Curt cry out and turned to see several Infected swarming him. He pulled his gun and began firing rapidly at their heads as he approached. When he got to Curt, several of the Infected looked up at him, which provided Owen a small window to grab Curt by the jacket collar and pull him to his feet. He whirled Curt around and began to push him along from behind. They raced forward, the horde close on their heels.

Owen and Curt ran headlong into the bar and slammed the door shut behind them. In a few short moments, Owen heard the first of the Infected horde slam into the door, and more thuds followed as the giant mass of Infected caught up to them and began to claw at the outside of the building. Curt rested against the door, his hand clutching his side and breathing hard. The bar was a small, wooden building, and Owen spun around frantically in the space, before spotting a window high up the back wall. He moved a crate over and jumped up to look out.

“There’s another horde coming from the east, but if we shimmy quickly out of this window, we can make it to the forest before they get here and hopefully lose them in the trees.” Owen wrenched the window open and turned around to gesture at Curt. “C’mon, Curt, let’s get going.”

He turned back to the window to climb out, but stopped when he heard a soft, “Owen?”

Owen turned back around. Curt pulled his hand off of his side and it came away red. He moved his jacket out of the way, and Owen saw a large tear in his shirt, the edges soaked in blood that was spreading rapidly. Even from his spot across the room, Owen knew: Curt had been bit.

“Owen?” Curt asked again, then wobbled forward and fell to his knees.

Owen flew across the room in seconds, grabbing Curt by the shoulders and helping him to lean against the wall. They could hear the horde of Infected scraping at the walls and at the door, their moans rising to a loud cacophony of danger.

“Hang in there, Curt.” Owen said, taking his own jacket off and pressing it into Curt’s wound, trying to stop the bleeding. “You’re going to be OK.” He said, a tinge of hysteria in his voice that he tried to clamp down. If they could just get out of here, he could find a way to save Curt...

Curt was still breathing heavily, and he gripped Owen’s shoulder. “Owen, it hurts.” He grunted. “It hurts so bad.”

“Here, hang on.” Owen stood up and rushed over to the bar, bottles clinking as he tried to locate something strong. Finally, he grabbed a bottle of whiskey and came back to Curt’s side. “Drink this.” He raised the bottle to Curt’s lips and made him drink deeply.

The whiskey settled thick in Curt’s veins and numbed the edges of the pain enough for Curt to catch his breath and take in the situation.

Curt said. “You need to leave. Run. Save yourself.” He weakly tried to push Owen away.

“No.” Owen shook his head. “I promised I’d never leave you. I’m staying right here.”

“I won’t let you die because of me!” Curt said forcefully.

“And I won’t let you die alone!” Owen snapped back.

Curt opened his mouth to argue again, but the hard set of Owen’s jaw told him it would be useless. Owen had already made up his mind. Finally, Curt said, “Owen, I’m afraid.” His voice cracked and barely moved above a whisper.

Owen grabbed his hand. “It’s going to be OK.” Then he kissed Curt deeply, drinking in the taste of whiskey on his lips. Curt kissed him back, and they stayed like that for a long while, desperate to burn the memory of their intimacy into their souls; to etch themselves deeply enough to carry the other with them into the next life.

Finally, Curt pulled away, rasping, “I’m not going to make it.”

Owen shook his head, tears brimming in his eyes. “Stop it. You’re going to be fine.” If he denied the inevitable long enough, maybe it would hurt less.

Curt’s eyes softened, and he began to cry, too. “No. But you’re going to be fine.”

Owen buried his face in Curt’s neck and gripped his shirt tight at his collarbone. Tears spilled over for both men; Owen’s soaking into Curt’s skin, and Curt’s falling gently into Owen’s hair. “What am I supposed to do without you?” Owen whispered.

Curt smirked. “It’s called moving on. Do give it a try.” Owen huffed a laugh. Even in extreme pain, Curt managed to be a wise ass. Curt laughed now, too.

“What can I do?” Owen asked, wiping tears from Curt’s face.

“Please just be here with me.” Curt said.

“Ok.”

Owen sat on the floor next to Curt, laying his head on Curt’s shoulder and lacing their fingers together. They sat like that for an hour, listening to Curt’s labored breathing and only breaking the silence to utter an “I love you”. Owen occasionally brought Curt’s hand up to his mouth and kissed it softly, and Curt did the same.

Finally, Curt said, “My love, I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything.” Owen said.

Curt pressed his gun into Owen’s palm. “I need you to end this.”

Owen sat up, looking at Curt in horror. “Are you fucking insane?” He pushed the gun back into Curt’s hands.

Curt looked at Owen desperately and pleaded with him, “Please, Owen. I… I can feel the infection spreading. It feels like fire in my blood, and I can feel it creeping into my brain. It hurts so much and it’s only going to get worse.” He began to sob, still speaking through his tears. “I’m afraid, Owen. I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t have enough strength left to do this myself. I need you to do it. Please. If I die… then I’ll turn into one of them.” He paused, and the moans and scratches of the Infected became incredibly loud in the space. Curt was struggling to breathe again. “Owen, I can’t turn into one of them. I can’t be like that.” He gripped Owen’s arm tightly, and Owen could see the sheer panic in his eyes. “Please.” He whispered.

Owen stared back at Curt for a long time. He didn’t know if he had the strength to kill his best friend; to kill his partner. But Curt was desperate. This was his dying wish.

“OK.” Owen finally said. He took the gun and kissed Curt again. “I love you. You are my everything.”

Curt kissed him back, tasting the salt of Owen’s tears. “I love you, too. I’m so sorry to ask this of you.”

Owen didn’t move right away. He stayed by Curt’s side, crying softly and pressing kisses into his temple, his jaw, his lips. He breathed in his lover’s scent while he worked up the courage to fulfill Curt’s last wish.

Finally, Owen stood up shakily. “Wait for me on the other side.”

“Take your time to arrive.”

Owen aimed the gun at Curt’s forehead, and both men closed their eyes. “I’m sorry, my old friend.”

Owen pulled the trigger. Then, he dropped the gun on the floor, sank to his knees, and began to weep.

\-----

Curt had been dead for six hours, and Owen had been drunk for four. After shooting Curt, he lay on the floor for two hours, inconsolable and alone in his grief. He finally allowed himself to cry for everything he’d lost; his sister, his cat, his home, his love. He cried especially for Curt.

He cried for the idea of their happy ever after. He cried for the fantasy he’d built up that they would grow old together. He cried for the fact that he couldn’t save him.

Then, when he had cried himself out, he began to drink.

He took a shot for each person he’d lost. One shot for Emily. One more shot for his brother-in-law. And another for his cat. And three more for Curt.

He drank until he vomited, then he drank a little more. He threw bottles against the wall and screamed in rage. He kicked a chair and sent it skittering across the floor. He cried and cursed and felt like he would lose his mind from sheer grief.

Once he was thoroughly drunk and numb, he sprawled out in the middle of the floor and watched the light slowly recede as night fell. The room was spinning, and he couldn’t tell if his nausea now was from the grief or from the alcohol. Still, he lay whimpering on the floor of the bar until his dizziness subsided and he fell into a fitful sleep.

\------

When Owen blinked awake, the light streaming into the bar from the windows split his head open, and he curled up on his side to try and shut it out. When he opened his eyes again, he was staring at Curt. Then, he remembered.

Owen immediately vomited again; the pain and grief and booze of yesterday leaving him in an attempt to make his stomach as empty as he felt.

Owen stood shakily and pulled his jacket out of Curt’s slack grip. He laid the body on the ground and placed his jacket over Curt’s face. Somehow, that helped. But he couldn’t leave Curt here. It wouldn’t be right.

He rifled through their emergency pack and tore into a package of granola bars, eating the entire box in one sitting. A half-empty case of water bottles was sitting next to the bar top, and he drank two before he stood up again, steadying himself as the world tilted around him.

He had already made up his mind about his next course of action, and he wanted to get moving. He wandered through the bar, pulling open doors and rifling through inventory closets, looking for something to dig a hole with. Finally, in a storage closet in the back corner, Owen found a shovel. Why a bar would need a shovel was lost on him, but he was grateful it was there.

He came back into the main room of the bar and dropped to his knees. Using his crowbar, he pried up the floorboards to reveal smooth, packed dirt underneath. The moaning and scratching of the Infected outside were a constant reminder that he was surrounded. No escape. They would break in eventually and devour anything they could. But he refused to give them Curt.

“They cannot have your body.” Owen muttered in the direction of Curt. “I won’t allow it.”

Then, he began to dig.

He dug for hours, only stopping to alternatively sip from a bottle of water and a bottle of vodka. He knew he should stop drinking but being sober was an infinitely worse option. So, he drank and he dug until he had a shallow grave and a deep buzz.

It took all of his strength and concentration to lift Curt’s body; he slid a hand under his knees and around his shoulders and, as lovingly as a groom carries his love over the threshold of their new life, Owen carried Curt gently to his grave. Once Curt was resting comfortably, Owen leaned down and placed a soft kiss on his temple, then replaced the jacket over his face.

He pushed the dirt back into the hole, quickly covering Curt, and slotted the floorboards back into place. It was over.

Tears wore tracks through the dirt smudged on his face, and he wiped his hands on his jeans. Gasping sobs racked through him as he placed a hand on the floorboards above Curt. He stayed like that for an eternity, before taking a deep breath and finding his composure. “For once, Curt, you’re one step ahead of me.” He whispered. “But, love, I’m right behind.”

Owen stood and turned towards the door to the bar. He reached down and pulled his grenade out of the side of the backpack, pressing down the lever and pulling out the pin. In one swift movement, he crossed the floor of the bar and threw open the door. Time slowed down as he backed up again. Upon reaching the spot where Curt was buried, he found the other man waiting for him. Curt smiled gently, holding out his hand.

As the horde rushed in to meet them, Owen took Curt’s hand, took one step, and let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to talk, I’ll be available on Tumblr @abuginahumanbody for messages or chat, and I may pop in and out of the SaF discord over the next few days. Please leave a comment; I would love to hear your thoughts on the finale, and the fic as a whole.

**Author's Note:**

> For more info on the fic, to request one-shots, or just to chat with me, follow me on Tumblr @abuginahumanbody


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